#batfam angst

[waneborne-caverns]

⋆₊˚⊹ ࿔⋆ Revealing Secrets ⋆₊˚⊹ ࿔⋆

batboys x gn!civilian!reader

dick grayson, jason todd, bruce wayne synopsis: your boyfriend reveals to you his secret identity finally, just not in the way he would have liked... tags: established relationships, angst to comfort, miscommunication, assumptions of/illusions of cheating (dick and bruce), happy ending, language

a/n: back at it again with another fic i squirreled away lol no timmy this time, sorry tim drake enjoyers!! i couldn't think of a good idea for him;; hope y'all enjoy!!

Dick Grayson (wc: 2.7k):

You like to think of yourself as an understanding person. Someone who puts faith in their partner a hundred percent of the time. But there has to be a limit right? What you’re doing right now is rational right?

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the floor of Dick’s apartment, staring blankly out ahead of you in questioning numbness as your inner thoughts compare notes. It comes and goes in waves. Sometimes the Doubter wins out, making your body move with a fueled rush to gather all your clothes, all your belongings you’ve left over as his place, cursing his name and your naivety as you try to make any evidence of you disappear.

And then, a little voice pipes up in the middle of you stuffing mugs wrapped in shirts into trash bags that freezes you on the spot.

“But Dick isn’t like that.”

And then you sit or you stand in the middle of his apartment, mind blank from overwhelming conflicting beliefs, for several minutes. Sometimes you silently cry, keeping your sobs down so as to not disturb the neighbors at such a late (or rather early) hour.

But right now the tears are dry on your cheeks, your thoughts have leveled out some but you were still indecisive. You start to turn your mind back, trying to recall if there was any proof of Dick’s cheating or if it was just your abandonment issues flaring up again.

Your relationship with Dick wasn’t perfect, but it was damn near close. You two had disagreements or communication issues that would be resolved in an evening. The worst fight you had was when Dick flaked on meeting your parents when they were in town. It wasn’t a big deal, just a light breakfast at a cafe or a lunch downtown sometime during the week they were visiting; something casual to introduce your family to the man you loved.

And he flaked all week. Each excuse was different to the point you weren’t sure why he bothered rescheduling if he was just going to not show up.

But that was then. Dick had made up for it in spades by insisting you both go see your family in your old hometown one weekend and it was amazing. Your parents loved him (as who wouldn’t) and you got to show him where you grew up so far away from the grimness of Bludhaven.

Dick would miss a few dates here and there, but you never thought about it fully. Until one night when Dick was sleeping over at your apartment and you woke up to him missing. You rarely woke up in the middle of the night while Dick was over (he made sure you had no excuse not to sleep soundly after he was finished with you), but during a sudden cold snap through the city you woke up freezing cold and alone.

At first you waited, curling the comforter around you as you waited for your darling heater to return. But the longer you waited, the more the chill got to you, and the more the chill got to you, the more awake you became. It wasn’t long before you sat up, worried, you pulled on Dick’s sweater from the floor and padded around your cold apartment looking for him.

You checked the bathroom, the living room, the kitchen, and found no sign of him. You see that his phone is still connected to the charger by the bed but his shoes are missing from the front door. You try not to worry about it too much but in the end, you couldn’t return to sleep.

You heard the front door open sometime around four in the morning. You wait on top of your bed, waiting to see if your mind was playing tricks on you. But when you heard the jingle of keys hit the bowl by the door, you rushed to your feet.

You crashed into Dick’s warm body before he could even toe his second shoe off. His arms loop around you, his warmth seeping into the chill of your body from the cold and also from the lack of him. He mumbled softly with amusement as he petted your hair, “Well, hello to you too.”

As you pull Dick back towards your bedroom to return to sleep, you ask him where he went at such a late hour. He told you he had forgotten something at his apartment and didn’t want to wake you up over something so small. And you believed him, he was your Dick afterall.

Even though his apartment was only a few blocks up the street and he didn’t return with anything in his hand, you believed him. Because you loved him.

But then it kept happening.

For several nights, you would wake up to Dick missing and returning to your apartment hours later. Sometimes you would ask him where he went. He was always forgetting something at his apartment, always something small and different like his toothpaste or a change of underwear. Sometimes you would fake being asleep in your bed when he returned home. He would shower (in the dark as the lights would no doubt wake you up) then return to bed, curling an arm around your body as if he never left.

You wanted to press for more but you were more than aware about your own relationship issues. You had to trust that what Dick said was true even if your anxiety was fighting against you. You confided in your friends about it and they suggested a test.

Stay the night over at Dick’s apartment and see if he leaves in the middle of the night. If he does, it was all the evidence you would need that he was lying about where he was going for hours at a time.

And so you began to encourage the idea of spending the night at Dick’s apartment rather than yours. Your clever excuse was that you wanted to see Hayley more as your apartment didn’t allow pets. Which wasn’t a total lie. You loved Hayley to bits and loved taking her with you and Dick during dates to the park or a pet friendly restaurant.

Soon Dick’s apartment became a common location for late night movies and after-dinner sleepovers, rotating sporadically with your own apartment depending on where you two ended up and whose apartment was closer.

And while he still snuck out when he stayed at your apartment, Dick never snuck out of his. You always woke up in his arms with Hayley snugly curled in the gap between your legs. You would curl into his arms with a breath of relief, falling right back to sleep every time.

That was, until tonight.

When you woke up to Hayley whining at the door of the bedroom, gently pawing at the closed door. You sleepily sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you gently called out to her. She hurries over to you, tail wagging excitedly as you make your way out of the bed.

You notice Dick missing immediately but assume he was somewhere else in the apartment, accidently trapping Hayley inside the bedroom in his haste to close the door so the light from the living room didn’t disturb you.

You open the door, Hayley scampering out finally free from the bedroom and it takes you all of three seconds to realize the living room is dark. And empty.

And now here you sat, in the middle of Dick’s living room with two garbage bags full of belongings. Thinking about it only solidifies the obvious truth to you, Dick was lying to you. Whether or not he was cheating didn’t matter because he still lied and you weren’t going to make an excuse for him anymore.

“Baby?”

Your head snaps up. Dick is standing in his doorway, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and baggy joggers. He barely gives Hayley any attention when she runs up to him excitedly, licking at his halfheartedly extended palm as his eyes flick over you.

You don’t look injured, or sick. But you’ve been crying and you’re not meeting his eyes. Dick swallows. He’s seen this before. His eyes flick to the garbage bags before he offers a light hearted joke, “Doing some late night cleaning?”

You don’t reply, just close the bag in your hand into a tight knot. You stand up slowly, a tied up bag in each hand. You struggle for a moment, wanting to keep your voice neutral and even as you say, “Take me home…please.”

The silence that follows your simple request is heavy with unspoken accusations and bending under the pressure of—not rage—finality. This wasn’t the first time a civilian he was dating broke up with him due to his work as a vigilante (though none of them knew that was the reason why). He tried fighting against it before, trying to get them to see reason but it always ended in an angry shouting match with flying accusations and a slammed door. So he started to just accept the break ups when they happen, shrug them off like they don’t matter—like they don’t carve a piece of his heart out every time.

For a while, he stopped dating civilians as it would only end in heartbreak for the both of them. But then he met you, completely by chance. Dick wasn’t usually a romantic, but your chance encounter was practically right out of a rom-com.

Catching the eyes of an attractive stranger across a busy intersection, their hearts skipping a beat as if their souls knew something they didn’t. The light changes, the moment the two of you would pass each other going in opposite directions, probably never to see each other again, was fastly approaching.

And Dick’s arm shot out, he grabs you before you leave his sight, as he desperately asks to buy you a coffee.

It’s been total bliss since then. Sure there were bumps and bruises, but God were you worth it. Dick never wanted to come home to someone more than you, he never felt safer than when he was with you. He loves you. So much it’s irrational considering the timeframe. He was happy at whatever pace you wanted to go, letting you lead in everything in the relationship.

He’s been wanting you to move in since the third date (highly irrational and very insane of him, according to Jason), so he was more than excited when you brought up staying at his apartment more. He made sure his schedule was clear whenever you were over so he could appreciate seeing you in his apartment, making yourself at home.

He had decided to reveal his secret identity to you once you officially moved in, whenever you were ready to make that step. He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to go the more fun or the more serious route when it came to telling you.

But now it looks like it won’t matter.

“I…” Dick struggled to speak, struggled to wrap his head around the reality he was seeing. A reality that only existed in his worst nightmares. He takes a step towards you, “Baby—”

“Dick,” he freezes as you take a step back, holding up your hand to stop him. Your tone carries a warning, though it wasn’t harsh—it still hurts. You don’t meet his eyes, “Please, just take me home.”

Dick can feel his heart racing, the bruises welting against his skin from patrol pulsing with dull pain in harmony. He shouldn’t have left. He should have ignored Batman’s call, should have told him to deal with the problem without him. He had tons of other wards, why’d it have to be him? And why did it have to be while you were here, waiting for him?

How long did you agonize and swirl in your thoughts before you started to pack everything? Or was it something you’ve been itching to do for a while now?

Dick takes a cautious step forward, “It’s not what you think—”

“How can it be anything else?” you accuse before you can catch it. You shake your head, you don’t want to fight or yell right now. You just want to keep yourself whole. Just for a little longer. “Just—take me home, please.”

“Can’t I explain myself first?” Dick argued. He steps in front of you when you try to walk around him, “Honey, please—”

“I’d rather not know, okay?” you snap back. You feel the tears start up again and you wipe at them before they can fall, “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know who it is or why or where—”

“Baby, it’s not like that,” Dick says as he holds your arms. His hands slide upwards, up over your shoulders until he finally cups your face in his warm palms. He forces your eyes upwards, his gentle eyes pleading as he softly repeats, “It’s not like that.”

You sniffle, eyes scrunching up as you want to believe him. But how could you? The tears slip as you dejectedly reply, “What else could it be?”

When Dick leans in, you think he’s about to kiss you as a final goodbye, maybe whisper an apology of admission. But instead he presses his lips to your forehead, soft and long, as if trying to reassure you. He lets out a long exhale when he finally moves away, hands lingering on you for as long as he could before he goes to pull off his sweatshirt.

At first you go to cover your eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time Dick used his body to distract you long enough to win a petty argument and you weren’t exactly in the mood to be messed with. But you hesitate when rather than see the color of his skin, you see black. You lower your hands slowly as you stare at Dick’s exposed upper body, fully covered in neck to wrist tight black-blue spandex that clung to every curve of his body.

Your eyes fixate on the symbol on his chest. Wide and blue, shaped vaguely in a V with cut outs to imply wings—you know that symbol.

Everyone in Bludhaven knows that symbol.

Dick swallows, your staring in awed silence wasn’t exactly reassuring. He drops his sweatshirt to the wayside as he steps back in, his hands gently reaching for yours. You let go of the bags almost instinctively, letting them drop with a plop as your eyes continue to take in the electric blue of Nightwing’s insignia on his chest. Even as Dick’s hands intertwine with yours, you remain transfixed. Dick rubs his thumb up against your index finger in soothing strokes, his eyes never leaving your face, “I wanted to wait until you moved in to tell you.”

Your eyes shoot up to his face, eyes wide in surprise, “Moved in?” You feel your heart start to race, your hands tightening their hold on Dick’s, “You wanted me to move in?”

Dick lets out an airy laugh as he smiles with a tilt of his head, “Of course I do.” He tugs you forward, releasing your hands so they could rest on his chest as his hands came to rest on your hips. His eyes look down at your lips, “Since the third date, actually.”

Your heart thumps, “Really?”

Dick nods, his gaze transfixed on your face. He leans in to kiss you this time, and you melt so easily. It’s brief, a chaste little thing only meant to quell Dick’s urge for now. Even so, Dick pulls back reluctantly, his hand coming up to hold your face. His thumb gently rubs against the warm apple of your cheek and he says, “Would you like to sit down for a bit? I would like to tell you something.”

You find yourself nodding, eyes half lidded, “Yeah, anything.”

Dick kisses you again, unable to help himself. He was okay to do whatever you want to so he could keep you right here in front of him. He would have waited until you were both gray if you wanted. But after what happened tonight, you’ll have to forgive him when in two weeks time he gets down on one knee and asks you to marry him.

Jason Todd (wc: 2.6k):

Despite how Jason was with other people, he rarely ever fought with you. You were someone he chose, who he respected, who he loved. The most you two would do is bicker over small things or discuss (very passionately) about miscommunication and reassurances. But neither of you would ever label moments like that as “fights”, no matter how heated they were in the moment.

But this.

This was a fight.

“I can’t believe you’re defending him right now!” you shout mid-pace in Jason’s living room as said man was sitting on the couch, trying not to blow more of a fuse than he already has.

“I’m just saying,” Jason started, trying to remember to be calm about this despite how stubborn you were at the moment, “his intention was to–”

“I don’t give a fuck about his stupid intention, Jason! He fucking groped me,” you spat back, stopping to turn towards him.

“Putting a hand on your waist is not groping!”

“Oh sorry, were you the one that was touched? I didn’t think so!”

Jason ran a hand down his face, his eyes glaring off to the side in annoyance. Not at you so much as himself and his big fat mouth. The topic of this fight was an incident at a bar a few nights ago. Jason knew that you were out with friends that night but didn’t know where. So when his latest mission as Red Hood came to a head in a ten versus one above some dive bar in Crime Alley with shitty infrastructure, he was more than a little shocked that when the floor suddenly gave way and he ended up falling in the middle of a game of pool, that you were there. Literally feet away from him, slightly dusted in sawdust or asbestos or whatever was used as insulation, clutching a pool stick close to your chest in surprise in the middle of the quietest bar Jason had ever been in.

Immediately more concerned about you than himself, Jason ignores the pain in his back to flip over and address you with urgency, “Are you hurt?”

It’s only when his voice comes out modulated and he sees the surprised look in your eyes as you frantically shake your head that Jason remembers, he’s Red Hood right now. Even so, that fact didn’t stop him from launching his body to cover yours the second the smugglers he was fighting opened fire down at him below. He rolls the both of you under the pool table, screams and breaking glasses echoing all around you as the other bar guests frantically run for the exit. All Jason was thinking at that moment was how to get you out of there as safely as possible, his mind flicking through options and ideas in his head like a flipbook, meanwhile you were trying not to pass out from sheer fear and panic.

Because on the one hand, the sexy Red Hood grabbed you of all people to save and hide under a low pool table with and he wasn’t shy about personal space in the slightest. On the other hand, there were fucking bullets ricocheting everywhere. Not to mention you were pretty sure your boyfriend was never going to let you go out on your own ever again.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You more felt Red Hood’s words than heard them, his chest rumbling and brushing against yours with each word due to the close confines. His elbows rested on either side of your head, the milky white eyes of his helmet staring blankly down at you. You couldn’t see the frantic searching of Jason’s irises as they looked over your face, searching for scratches, blood, bruises, anything.

You felt your heart start to pound when Red Hood leaned closer towards you, Jason leaning down to inspect a swipe of something dark against your cheek that he hoped wasn’t blood. You quickly place your hands on Red Hood’s torso right under his pecs (the only place you could reach since your arms were pinned under his hunk of a body, not because you wanted to) and turned your head to the side as you quickly, and quietly, spat out, “I have a boyfriend!”

Jason paused, the cute embarrassed expression on your face making him smile. He wasn’t obtuse, he knew Red Hood was considered a “sex god” by many civilians in and out of Gotham and from the few conversations you’ve had with your friends that he’s overheard, you thought so too. But the way you were rejecting Red Hood because you were dating him made his stomach twist up in knots. He couldn’t help the warm chuckle bubbling out of his throat.

Unfortunately for Jason, that warm chuckle sounded more condescending through the modulator to your untrained ears. And even though the words Red Hood said seemed harmless to Jason, they set off little red alarms in the back of your mind, “I think that’s the least of your concerns right now, sweets.”

The whole smuggler situation was resolved within twenty minutes, Nightwing was called in along with Spoiler to assist. Even though Jason was sure he could handle them on his own, he didn’t want to risk any harm to you and remained under the pool table as Nightwing and Spoiler took out the smugglers. Once the coast was clear, Red Hood offered you a hand to help you stand which you rejected. You could still feel the ghost of his hand that was on your side while you two waited out the skirmish. His hand rubbing up and down against your side in comforting strokes. Jason thought he was soothing you considering you were trembling under him and you responded well when he did it during horror movie marathons. But that was when he was Jason. Right now he was Red Hood and it was very uncomfortable for you. Not to mention conflicting.

The patterns felt too familiar, too comforting from a total stranger that it made your body react positively even though you knew the person touching you at that moment wasn’t your boyfriend. You felt guilt starting to swirl. Of course you thought Red Hood was hot, who didn’t?! But you were committed to a relationship with the sweetest, most romantic man you’ve ever met and you’d be damned if some handsy hero wanted to get fresh with you just because he saved your skin.

Even though you rejected his hand, Red Hood still put his hand over the edge of the pool table, something Jason usually did when you would crawl under the table to grab something you dropped. The action that usually invokes fluttering butterflies, now felt tainted when it was done by another man. You just wanted to get home and sleep, then rant about Red Hood’s handsy-ness to your boyfriend next you see him. You were all cleared to leave by Spoiler (no injuries outside of a rogue thin scrape from when a vigilante fell in the middle of your pool table) so you turned to start the walk home to your apartment.

Only to feel your feet lift off the ground when a strong arm wraps itself around your waist to drag you backwards into a hard warm chest, “And where do you think you’re going?”

That was the final straw for you. You hadn’t had to get aggressive with an unwanted man since usually Jason was intimidating enough to keep people back, so you were probably way harsher than you should have been. Then again, you were in the middle of a shoot out in your favorite bar just moments ago so maybe your violent shove was more than a little warranted.

You spun around, finger jabbed out towards, but no where near touching, Red Hood’s chest as you spat out, “Keep your fucking hands off me.”

Jason was stunned silent at the expression on your face. You never looked at him with such disgust and rage before. You spun around to start walking but Jason called after you, “Why are you being such a bitch?”

Okay, maybe calling you a bitch was a little harsh and Jason immediately regretted it. Even if you weren’t his romantic partner, he shouldn’t be calling any civilian a bitch after the night they just had. So you had every right to stop and spit back something just as harsh, “Why do you feel so entitled to fucking touching me? Oh, what, because you saved me from the mess you caused I should get on my knees and suck your fucking dick?!”

Jason stiffened in surprise, grateful for the helmet that hides his growing blush as it creeps up all over his face as his siblings snicker behind him. He bites back, “No! But you should at least be grateful!”

“For what? You doing your job?” you reply. You give an exaggerated bow, “Wow, thank you so much for saving me, Mr. Red Hood, sir.” You scowl, “Happy now?”

You turn to walk off only for Jason to scoff, annoyed. Usually you were kinda hot when you cursed people out, but right now you were being fucking unreasonable for no reason. In the end, Jason tightened his jaw before beginning to follow you. Even if you were mad at him, (for some reason) he wanted to make sure you got home safe after all that.

You, however, disagreed.

“Don’t fucking follow me!” you shouted over your shoulder.

“What, am I not allowed to make sure you get home safe?” Jason shouted back, exacerbated.

“I don’t want you to know where I live, pervert!”

“Pervert?!”

“Okay, Hood, how about I walk them home?” Nightwing suggested.

“Not a fucking chance,” both you and Jason say at the same time, the one thing you agree on but for different reasons.

For Jason, he didn’t want Dick finding out about his relationship with you (though at this point it might as well be out of the bag). Meanwhile, for you–

“I can walk my own damn self home just fine,” you respond.

Jason conceded, throwing his hands up in the air, “Fine, whatever. Get lost already.”

You flip him off, turning again to finally begin the walk home. Jason watched your retreating figure, his eyes never leaving your back, “Spoiler.”

“Follow ‘em, got it,” Stephanie replied, immediately shooting off her hook to follow your walk home from the rooftops.

“Can I ask–”

“No,” Jason snapped, silencing Dick for now as he turned his attention back to the smugglers that started this whole mess.

Jason only eased up when Stephanie told him that you made it home, but he relaxed when you texted him the same thing. Though when you added that you had a rough night, Jason felt a little guilty for being such an asshole to you. He was set on apologizing to you next time he saw you.

It was only when he saw you a few days later that he was reminded, again, that he was Red Hood to you that night and not your beloved Jason Todd as you recount everything Red Hood did to you that made you uncomfortable. Things that Jason thought were helpful, were actually creepy when it wasn’t him saying or doing it. And Jason felt awful for coming off like that, happy to let you rant about your terrible night out and how touchy Red Hood was despite you telling him you had a boyfriend (it was him but again, you didn’t know that). But when you started to insinuate Red Hood’s actions were more insidious than they were (because again, Red Hood was your boyfriend even if you didn’t know it), Jason couldn’t stop himself from jumping to his own defense.

The spark that started this whole fight to begin with.

“I can’t believe you’re actually defending this guy!” you shout, incredulous. “Meanwhile, if anyone so much as stares longer than a second at me, they deserve an elbow to the throat!”

“Hey I’m still working on that!” Jason replied, defensive. “They’re fucking sleazeballs with a staring problem. He beats up bad guys. Not exactly the same cloth here, babe.”

“Oh so because he’s a hero, he gets a pass is that right?” you snidely remark. “So if Nightwing gets all handsy next time I should just let him?”

Jason jumps to his feet, “Did he fucking touch you? Because I swear to God–”

“No you fucking idiot,” you snap, “It was an example. But how come you’re more upset about fucking Nightwing who’s all the way over in fucking Bludhaven, than you are about the fucking guy who is out in our neighborhood?!”

“I–That’s different!”

“How?!” you insist, “How is it different, Jason?! They’re both men, both heroes that save people, what makes it okay for Red Hood to feel me up but not Nightwing?!”

“Because he’s me, dammit!”

Silence overtakes the apartment. Jason can’t even look at you, hand running through his hair as he curses himself for letting it slip so easily. But what other option did he have? Jason knew realistically that he had to tell you, but he was putting it off for as long as he could. Because once you knew about him, you’d know everything. What he did as the Hood, that he died, that he came back. He was scared that you’d never see him the same. And it didn’t help that your opinion of Red Hood was soured very recently by his own inability to keep his hands off of you.

“That’s not funny, Jason,” you finally say.

Jason sighed. Denial. At least you weren’t shouting any more. Though, he probably preferred that over your quieter tone that lacked any tell of your true thoughts. He still couldn’t look at you, crossing his arms to protect himself, “I’m not joking.”

Another moment of silence. Until you punched him square in the arm.

“Ow!” the reaction was automatic, your knuckle was sharper than Jason was expecting and seemed to be the worst part of the punch. Though he’s seen you scrap in a bar fight before, you could definitely punch harder than that, “What was that for?”

“You asshole, why didn’t you say anything?!” you hissed, no true anger in your words or stance. If anything you looked…embarrassed. “I said all that fucked up shit about you. You should have just told me it was you.”

Jason stared in disbelief, “You’re not…” He wasn’t sure what he was expecting your reaction to be. Anger? Betrayal? Disgust? “You’re not mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad,” you said. “I just wish you gave me a signal or something, I don’t know.”

Jason snorted, “Yeah next time I need to reveal my secret identity to you I’ll pinch your left hand.”

You slap his arm for teasing you, making him laugh as you roll your eyes, “God whatever, asshole.”

Jason entered your space, something he was careful to not cross when you two were fighting but now was craving it when he saw your smile. He gently took your hands, weaving your fingers together casually, his eyes never straying from your face, “You sure you’re not mad?”

You snort with a smile, “Of course not, Jay. If anything I’m relieved.” You give your entwined hands a tug, urging him to take a step closer as you look up at him with a knowing smile, “Shoulda knew it was you the whole time anyway. Only you could make my heart go stupid when you get your hands on me.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason replied, releasing one of your hands to loop an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer, “I make your heart go stupid, baby?”

“Mm hmm,” you hum, leaning into his warmth. His safety. “Only you, Jay.”

Jason leans down, his lips brush against yours. Soft like a rose petal. Romantic like a sonnet. Even as you try to urge him to kiss you more with a simple break in your lips, a silent invitation, he doesn’t go farther. Not yet. His lips touch yours slightly as he speaks.

“Only me and Red Hood, apparently.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Bruce Wayne (wc: 4.7k):

This conversation was a long time coming. In all honesty, it was way overdue. About three years overdue but who’s counting (the kids and Alfred, with the answer varying depending on who you ask). Bruce knew he liked you from the day he met you, he knew he loved you nine months into dating you, and he knew he wanted to be with you forever three years ago. The ring he bought for you was hidden in his home office in a drawer in his desk, easily found if you were to open it but you never did.

You respected his privacy too much to do that. Which was both a blessing and a curse. If you were just a little more curious, a little more invasive into his private life, maybe the secret that was preventing Bruce from popping the question for three whole years wouldn’t have been such an issue. But he never blamed you. Only himself was to blame for the fact that you refer to him as your boyfriend rather than your husband after five years of dating.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you with his secret, with his children’s secret. He knew that marrying the man who was Batman was a huge ask, bigger than being a parent to children who weren’t your own or the spouse to a man forever under a spotlight. You handled the other two with ease, even as your status as just a romantic partner. You treated his boys and girls with respect and guidance. Bruce has never seen Damian cave to an adult’s requests faster in his life. Even Jason was open to your words of advice even if he didn’t explicitly ask for any. You treated the press as nothing more than words on a page. Though in your own words, you never read gossip columns much anyway so why would you bother to now?

But those two things were softballs compared to the lead sphere that was Batman. But in a way, you were already living with Batman, you just didn’t know it. All the missed vacations or rain check dates, you never held it against him so long as he told you about them the second he knew he wasn’t able to commit anymore. You never questioned him, never asked for more than he was willing to give. It was a blessing really, to have a partner so independent and trusting, and Bruce was happy to keep it that way. Even if that ring were to never be used as he wouldn’t feel right asking for your hand without you knowing all of what you were getting into, he was content so long as you stayed by his side.

Then he worked with you, as Batman. And he fell harder for you than he ever had before. You worked as a forensic lead at Gotham PD’s crime lab, specialized in toxicology and chemistry as the best in your field. So it wasn’t surprising that Commissioner Gordan suggested you when Batman asked him to borrow a forensics expert for an on-going drug case. What Bruce should have done was keep you as far away from this case as possible as your life could be in danger because of it. But as he hit deadend after deadend, asking you for help became his only option.

At first, Batman would only meet you in your lab or workplace. But as the case further developed and culprits attacked your workplace trying to get to you, you had to be moved to the lab in the Batcave until the case was solved. You fit in like a missing puzzle piece they didn’t know they were missing, the Bats and Birds more than thrilled to have you in the cave alongside them even though you didn’t know it was them under the cowls and masks. You acted no differently than if you were with Bruce and his family out of uniform, your parenting instincts and humor making an appearance even in the most serious of circumstances.

It was as Batman was watching you in the lab, chatting with his wards as you worked and gently swatting Robin’s hand from touching the burette and ruining your titration, that he realized that you belong here. In the cave. With his wards. With him. With Batman. He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t feel like you two have gotten closer since your stay in the Batcave began. Sometimes he would even catch you looking at him, only for you to quickly turn away and return to your work having been caught.

Once the case was over, it was obvious everyone else felt the same.

“Father, when will (L/n) return to the cave?” Damian asked him.

“When we require their expertise.”

“Hey B, is (Y/n) in today? I have some blood I want them to run,” Dick said with a bagged sample.

“You can run the sample on your own without their assistance.”

“(Y/n) would have laughed,” Tim lamented when his joke fell flat.

“They would have, yes, you’re still going with Robin.”

Bruce could take a hint, but it didn’t mean he was going to act on it. More often than not he’d find himself in the Batcave sitting in front of the Batcomputer with the ring box in his hands, opening and closing the lid repeatedly. That was how Alfred found him one evening after patrol, alone with his thoughts and your ring. Alfred approached, standing next to his master before saying, “Everyone has gone to bed for the night, Master Bruce.”

“Right, thank you Alfred,” Bruce responded absentmindedly, the soft click of the ring box closing and opening filling the silence that followed.

Alfred watched silently for a few moments before he said, “They would say yes, you know.”

“To Bruce Wayne,” Bruce agreed, clicking the box closed one final time. He envelops the velvet box in his palm, “To Batman? I have my doubts.”

“You say it as if those are two completely different men.”

“To (Y/n) they are.”

“Only because you refuse to tell them otherwise.” Bruce gives his oldest friend an unamused look that would pass as a pout if he wasn’t a man in his early forties. Alfred continued with a reassuring smile, “Master Bruce, in the five years that I have had the privilege of knowing (Y/n) as your partner, they have never once made me doubt their affection towards you. I believe that warrants a little risk, don’t you?”

Bruce contemplates for a moment. His eyes cast over to the dark and empty lab. He feels his chest warm at the thought of you working in that lab, helping him on cases, giving him first aid, being the support he needed when his back hit a wall. Bruce stands, shoving the ring box into his belt with one hand and pulling his cowl over his face with the other, “I won’t be long Alfred.”

“So you say,” Alfred said with a knowing smile, watching Batman hurry out, “Give (Y/n) my regards and congratulations.”

By the time Batman arrived at your city apartment, you were getting ready for work. You hadn’t showered yet, enjoying the early hours by yourself before getting your day officially started. Still dressed in a silk pajama pair that Bruce bought you two birthdays ago, hair still unkempt, you started brewing your cup of coffee. Batman watched from your highrise balcony, the morning light not bright enough to reveal his silhouette too clearly. His hand rested over the pocket on his belt. Batman doesn’t get nervous. He’s fearless and certain. Bruce on the other hand…

He taps on the glass before he can stop himself, fighting back a smile when you jump in surprise. You walk over quickly, you unlock the door and pull it open slightly to stick your head out, “Batman? Is everything alright?”

No. Everything was not alright. You looked positively radiant right now and it made the stoic bat stiffen at the realization–he could get used to seeing you like this. You two barely spent the night together outside of weekends away or the rare vacation, both too busy with work to spend the night in each other’s bed. Seeing you in such a domestic lighting, looking up at him with concern–God you were perfect.

Bruce swallowed, “May I come in?”

You nod, further opening the door to let the dark knight effortlessly glide into your apartment. Bruce has visited a few times before but he looked around anyway as his memories took over. That couch was where you introduced Bruce to the Fast and Furious franchise, a guilty pleasure you claimed to never share with anyone else before him. The coffee table where you fanned out several magazines that had Bruce as the front cover–an embarrassing discovery he was left alone to find when you were still getting ready for your third date. You still claim they weren’t yours.

Bruce’s eyes rested on the pictures on the wall, arranged in a style like a prized feature wall in a gallery. That wall was bare when the two of you started dating. Now it was overflowing with photos of your relationship. Couple pictures at beaches or restaurants. Group photos for the rare family vacation you always insisted they try to take. Some were just you and his kids. You and Damian at a school art show, you and Cass backstage at her performance with a bouquet in her hands, you giving a pep talk to Stephanie and Tim before a debate competition, several candids of Dick, Duke, and Jason both with and without you. It was all so touching, the evidence you had of how much you loved Bruce and his family. The evidence of how important you were to them.

“Is it another case?”

Batman turns, watching as you pour your creamer into your mug and mix it in. You use the spoon to taste, a habit Bruce found entertaining as even after thirty years you still couldn’t get the ratio exactly how you like it on the first try. You add a little more and put the creamer away, you pick up your mug and walk around the counter, “Should I pack a bag?”

Batman blinks out of the fond haze you put over him and walks deeper into your apartment, “No, that isn’t necessary.” He stops in front of you, “I’m not here for a case.”

“Oh,” you reply, surprised, “To what do I owe the pleasure of Batman's company?”

 Your hand in marriage.

Batman waved away the thought, instead focusing on reciting the speech he had laid out in his head prior to his arrival on your balcony, “I have something to say to you.”

You nod, taking his serious tone in stride and placing your mug on the counter behind you to give him your full attention. Bruce takes a breath, “Your…assistance–expertise, on that drug case was instrumental to me–to us. And I wanted to thank you.”

You smile, “There’s no need to thank me, Bats. I was just doing my job.”

Bruce paused at the nickname. He’s heard you say it before, even giving you explicit permission when you panicked about being too friendly to the vigilante the first time you said it. You said it so casually, so effortlessly; with an inflection Bruce was familiar with when you spoke his own name. Batman cleared his throat, “Yes well, there was something else.” You waited patiently as Bruce gathered himself, his hand going to rest on his belt over your ring. “You see, during your stay in the cave I–we grew fond of your presence there. If anything, your absence now is more noticeable. Almost…” his eyes catch yours, you’re hanging onto every word, “irritating.”

“I’m sorry,” you can’t help mumbling, your heart speeding up against your better judgement. “I didn’t mean to cause such an upset.”

“Quite the contrary,” Batman disagreed. He steps closer, your back digs into the counter but you don’t dare to look away. Almost like you can’t help it. “If anything, you revealed something that I have been struggling with for quite some time. And now that I know what it feels like to have someone like you by my side, I am ready to risk everything for a chance to feel it again.”

Your eyes flick over his face. They flick down to his lips, betraying the tension you feel that you try to cover up with intense eye contact, “I don’t understand.”

But of course Batman noticed. He noticed everything. His hand comes around your neck, your breath stutters. His thumb brushes against your jaw, “I want to lay my heart bare to you, my love. Reveal all its scars, all its pain–I want you to be a part of my life, all of it.”

When your eyes betray you again, he leans in. Batman captures your lips softly in his, tenderly. He’s kissed you so many times but this time felt different–real. Like he was able to shred the masks he wore in front of you for so long, able to feel the fresh breeze your presence gave him directly onto his naked skin. You kiss back almost instantly, the slight gasp of surprise melts with the tension of your body. You meet his lips with pliant acceptance, as if giving in to temptation.

When he pulls away to continue at a different angle, he feels your hands on his chest and a small push as your head turns away from him and you mumble, “...I think you should go.”

He doesn’t understand. You were kissing him back–you accepted him. Didn’t you?

You refused to look at him as he wordlessly moved away. The way you were holding yourself, the quiver in your lips–you were upset. But why? What did he do wrong? What could he say to change everything back to the way it was? Or was that your last gift to him–to Bruce, your final kiss goodbye?

Batman turned away with a mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t move, even after he left your balcony and disappeared into the early morning sky you were frozen in place. Your fingers shake as they brush against your lips, the guilt and shame swirling into a nauseous spiral in your stomach. You weren’t a cheater. You never looked at another person outside of Bruce no matter the missed dates or neglected nights alone, you never strayed. And yet all it took was a stoic hero of the night to sway your steadfast heart. A few weeks on a case with him and five years went down the drain like it was nothing. How could you look Bruce in the eyes now? The kids? Alfred? You had kissed someone who wasn’t Bruce Wayne.

And you liked it.

There were many downsides to raising wards to be brilliant detectives. Any surprise parties were spoiled before the cake could be made. Outings to escape rooms were practically children’s riddle books. And any information intended to be hidden would be found out within the day. Bruce was experiencing that last downside when he finally left his room to try to pretend his heart wasn’t broken this morning to grab something to eat. Preferably something sweet. And cold. With cookie dough chunks in it.

Bruce didn’t even make it past opening the freezer before Damian sidelined him with a question, “What did they say, Father?”

Bruce played dumb, turning his head towards Damian and trying to look as pleasantly neutral as possible, “What did who say?”

“(L/n),” Damian elaborated. Bruce shut the freezer door, opting for a bottle of water instead. Damian watched his father as he walked past, “You did ask them for their hand in marriage, correct?”

“Where did you hear that?” Bruce deflected.

His youngest followed him out of the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back as they walked, “My sources must remain anonymous.” Meaning he was just taking a guess. “You are planning on asking, correct?”

The usual response of “Yes, of course, when the time is right” died in Bruce’s throat as he hesitated. Was there even a point in asking after you sent him away this morning? Could Bruce even assume that you two were dating anymore? Did you break up with him or did you just need time to process everything?

“Father?”

Shit. Bruce hesitated for too long, now Damian was suspicious. And if he was suspicious, he’d start prying. And Bruce really didn’t need his ten year old son to start digging around in his love life. Again. He also didn’t want Damian or any of his children to despise you for your choice. Bruce hoped that even if this was the end, that you’d still be a guiding light to them when he wasn’t able to be. Bruce turned to his youngest, catching Damian’s hard gaze that was softened at the edges with worry. He put a hand on Damian’s head, ruffling his hair, “Sorry, my thoughts got away from me there. Don’t worry about that, okay?”

And with that, Bruce walked away, leaving Damian to disobey his father’s words.

It took you over six hours to gather the courage to come to Wayne Manor and tell Bruce what happened this morning. At first, you were going to just sweep it under the rug and forget about it. But it didn’t sit right with you for long. You don’t think you could pretend that everything was fine to Bruce’s face and you certainly didn’t want him to find out on his own later. So you decided to just tell him, the sooner the better. You had already called off work that morning (there was no way you were going to work after that) and after hyping yourself up for hours, you managed to get yourself in front of the manor and knock on the door.

Now all you had to do was wait.

And then confess to the love of your life that you kissed another man.

On second thought maybe you should go home–

The door opened, revealing Duke as he poked his head out to check who it was before he opened it further upon realizing it was you, “Oh! (Y/n)! Hi!”

“Hi Duke,” you say with a smile, feeling a little more at ease that it wasn’t Alfred. Out of all the children Bruce took under his care, Duke was the one who made you the least nervous to be around when you were first introduced. So it was a blessing that he was the one who answered the door, “Is Bruce in?”

“Oh yeah, he’s somewhere around here,” Duke said as he held the door open for you to enter, “C’mon in, I’ll help you find him.”

It didn’t take long for the pair of you to find Bruce after hearing a slightly heated muffled conversation coming from one of the parlor rooms. Duke opened the door in the middle of the conversation.

“I beg of you to drop this,” Bruce said.

“So we can’t be worried about you?” Dick asked, arms crossed.

Only Bruce and Dick are standing, the rest of the family scattered around in chairs and couches as if watching a play. You think you spy popcorn in-between Tim and Stephanie.

“I’m not saying you can’t be worried, I’m just not ready to discuss it,” Bruce replied.

“Father is deflecting again.”

“Damian–”

“You asked me to help keep you accountable,” Damian argued. “You asked all of us to.”

“Yeah, B, what’s so bad that you can’t tell us?” Jason asked.

At that moment, Tim spotted you and he elbowed Stephanie, who saw you standing there too. She beamed, waving her hand excitedly, “Oh hey (Y/n)!”

At the mere mention of your name, Bruce stiffened. Immediately all the detectives in the room zeroed in on Bruce like hawks spotting a mouse in the grass. You were none the wiser, Bruce’s reaction too subtle for untrained eyes to spot. You begin to pick at your nails, “Hi Steph, um, if you all aren’t too busy, may I borrow Bruce for a moment?” You pause, “Alone?”

The eyes that flicked to you, flicked right back to focus on Bruce, waiting for a reaction, a tell. Bruce was stiff as a board. He knew his children were studying him, trying to gauge from his reaction (or lack thereof) what you wanted to speak to him about alone. Everyone knew that an alone talk could only mean something bad. Everyone could see you were nervous, hesitant even. This was quickly spelling out to be a bad conversation.

“If you’re busy–”

“No,” Bruce was quick to say. He turns towards you finally, his smile not reaching his eyes like it usually does and it forms a pit in your stomach. He knows. Bruce walks towards you, “No, it’s fine. It must be important for you to come all this way.”

He notices your fidgeting fingers, a habit from your youth that you still haven’t broken despite being well into your late thirties now. Bruce instinctively reaches out to gently pry your hands apart. Then he hesitates. He hesitates for a little too long before his hand drops. When he looks at you, he doesn’t catch your eyes, “Shall we go to my study?”

You can only nod, your stomach twisting in on itself. It only eases just a little when Bruce puts a warm hand on your back. Higher than usual as if you were a colleague rather than his romantic partner, and he leads you out of the parlor room into his study.

Bruce doesn’t say a word as you both enter, closing the door behind you and opting to stand behind his desk by his chair as you stand on the opposite side. The invisible wall of tension now having a physical form as pregnant silence filled the space. You start picking your fingers again.

“What was it you wanted to discuss?” Bruce asked, the silence eating away at him just as much as the sight of you so anxious in front of him.

Rather than jump into your own issues, you couldn’t help thinking about the conversation you walked in on and instead asked, “Are you alright?”

Bruce is surprised, he doesn’t bother trying to hide his surprise from you, “I…I suppose. Why?”

You shrug, “The children have very strong intuitions. If they are worried about you, you must have something troubling you.” You caution a small smile in his direction, “They get that from you, I believe.”

That makes Bruce give a small laugh, a matching smile rising on his face at your compliment, “I wouldn’t be so sure. Even I can be wrong sometimes.”

My intuition certainly failed when it came to you.

Bruce frowned at the bitter thought, pushing it away to instead press the conversation forward, “I’m fine, though, I assure you. So please, tell me what’s on your mind.”

You pause, trying to gather the right thing to say, the right way to explain without so much pretext he may not even want to know. When you finally stop picking your fingers and gather your resolve, Bruce tenses. His hand digs into the mahogany wood of the desk, bracing himself for the break up that would ruin him for the rest of his life.

You raise your head, shoulders back, and blurt out, “I kissed Batman.”

Bruce blinks, his hand relaxing immediately in surprise.

I would think so, I was there, he couldn’t help thinking. Confused, he echoed your statement back to you as if to make sure that was the confession you meant to say, “You…kissed Batman.”

You nod once, still steadfast in your declaration despite the pounding in your chest at your false bravado, “Yes. And I liked it.”

That got the tips of Bruce’s ears starting to turn red. He shouldn’t be so flustered but the way you said your confession so confidently…was really fucking cute. When he didn’t respond, you started to explain everything. You explained that Batman brought you on a case and you had to stay in his Batcave for your own safety. During those weeks, you couldn’t help being fond of the masked hero but you knew it couldn’t be anything more than fondness, after all you loved Bruce–still do! Your heart never swayed from him, you reassured many times as you explained how your heart swayed away from him. Bruce brought his hand towards his mouth, trying to cover the embarrassingly sickly sweet smile that was worming onto his face. You were still so serious but Bruce couldn’t help smiling at the absurdity.

You had no idea that Bruce was Batman. For the past six hours and twenty-seven minutes, Bruce was agonizing over losing you because he was Batman when this whole time you genuinely had no idea. In your defense, he wasn’t exactly explicit in his reveal (he wasn’t explicit at all, he’s so used to his children’s observation skills that he forgot you were normal) and all subtly was lost to you. Even the pet name that he calls you all the time wasn’t obvious enough for you.

It was midway through your apology that Bruce let out an airy laugh. You stop dead in your tracks, staring at Bruce with confusion and mild offense, “Are you laughing?”

“I–” he couldn’t stop the small chuckle as the situation was just too silly. He was sure if you were in on it, you’d be laughing too. But Bruce was a little bit of a menace so he wanted to hold on to the reveal as long as possible, “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, my love.”

“Then what are you laughing at?” you ask, any guilt and shame you had was soon replaced by mild annoyance, “You think it’s funny that I kissed another man? That I cheated on you?”

Oh it was all too tempting to respond with something akin to, “you cheated on me with myself” but the look on your face was just too beautiful. The crossed arms, the slight furrow of your brows, the annoyance in your eyes that barely masked the guilt that still swarmed inside–now was the moment. It wouldn’t be the most romantic one, far from it. But it was the moment Bruce thought, yeah, this is it.

Bruce couldn’t help smiling as he reached for his desk drawer and pulled it open with a, “My love, there’s something I’d like to ask you–” His smile faltered. The ring was gone. It wasn’t in the drawer where it always was.

“Ask me what?”

Bruce’s head snapped up like a child caught in the cookie jar, your concern waning with each second as your patience grows thinner. His eyes flicked to the grandfather clock behind you. His belt!

“Just a moment, my love,” Bruce said as he hurried around to the clock, leaving you sputtering in confusion as he opened it and revealed the passageway hidden behind it. He rushed down the stairs, “I’ll be right back.”

“What?! Bruce!”

“Stay there!”

Of course you weren’t going to stay there, your boyfriend just revealed a secret passageway behind a grandfather clock that you’ve seen for five years without a hint of suspicion. Not to mention he was acting strangely. First with the laughter while you were confessing that you kissed Batman, and now he was frantically searching for something. He could really be confusing sometimes which made it hard not to be annoyed with him when he got like this, often hurrying away in the middle of a date after you mention something off-handedly.

As you walked down the smooth stone steps, your annoyance was replaced by awe. Who knew that such a large underground was hidden underneath the manor. You couldn’t help the thought about the risk to the house, would it fall in one day with all the children, Bruce, and Alfred still inside? The hypothetical safety concerns came to a screeching halt when you reached the bottom of the steps. Your eyes flick around quickly, taking every familiar thing and putting them together like a puzzle.

The Batmobile. The Batcomputer. The dinosaur. The many Batman suits. The giant penny. Bruce rifling through a Batman suit trying to get to his belt. The training grounds. The equipment laid out messily on a table. The lab.

You stare at the lab. The very very familiar lab. It all dawns on you very quickly.

“Oh my God.”

You turn to look at Bruce, he pauses under your gaze. Batman’s belt clutched in one hand, your eyes honing in on the velvet box in the other.

“Oh my God.”

a/n: i tried to keep each of them even but bruce's just got away from me;; hope y'all still liked it anyway!! divider credits (in order of appearance): @lobster-graphic @cursed-carmine @/enchanthings @strangergraphics-archive

[suigenerisisadiva]

Static On The Line ـــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Pairing: Batfam x Batsis!Reader

Summary: The days leading up to your birthday, you move through a world that feels rather gentle. Your family however, don't know they're counting down to the last moments they'll ever have with you.

CW: ANGST, you die bro rest in pieces. death, sustained injuries, description of blood and bodily harm, mention of suicide, grieving, nausea, vomit, swearing, tears (the whole shabang) If any of these tags are triggering, please click off for your own wellbeing.

WC: 6.3k (my longest fic to date)

READ PART 2 HERE - READ PART 2.5

The manor is warm in that quiet, lived-in way it only gets late at night.

Someone left a mug in the sink.

Damian’s boots are by the stairs, kicked off without care.

Tim’s PC hums faintly somewhere it shouldn’t be.

Titus is chewing on someone's bowtie, probably your fathers, instead of his toys.

Alfred has turned down most of the lights, leaving pools of gold along the hallways.

You’re in your room, standing in front of the mirror, smoothing your hands over the fabric of the dress again.

White. Soft. Elegant.

Something you don’t usually pick—but it made Dick’s eyes widen when you stepped out earlier, made Steph whistle, made Cass tilt her head and smile in approval.

Bruce had looked up from the Batcomputer when you’d come downstairs, mid-briefing, and stopped talking entirely.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” he’d asked.

“For my birthday,” you’d said, turning once. “Is it too much?”

He’d shaken his head slowly. “It’s perfect.”

You remember that now, as you leave the dress folded neatly on your bed instead of putting it away. You’d tried it on again after everyone went to bed, just to make sure. Just to feel excited.

Your birthday is coming up, precisely 23 days. There’s a party. You don’t know the details, but you know something’s being planned. You can feel it.

You hum to yourself as you change, utterly unaware of how fragile the moment is.

Bruce doesn’t know either.

The Batcave hums like a living thing.

Screens flicker to life one by one, bathing the stone walls in cold blue light. The air smells faintly of ozone and oil, familiar enough to be comforting—if not for the tension threaded through it. You’re already in suit, cowl down, standing near the Batmobile with your arms folded, weight shifted to one hip. The rest of your family wait for the instructions.

Babs’s voice cuts in before anyone else can speak.

“Alright,” she says, calm but sharp, the way she gets when the stakes are ugly. “Listen up.”

Every screen syncs to her feed. A schematic blossoms across the displays—an industrial complex sprawled beneath Gotham’s east docks, layered with red warning markers like open wounds.

“This isn’t a smash-and-grab,” she continues. “This is a pressure cooker.”

She highlights the lower levels.

Power grids. Structural supports. Something pulsing faintly at the centre.

“That core?” she says. “

Experimental energy converter. If it destabilises, we’re not talking a building-level blast. We’re talking a radius. People live three blocks out.”

Jason swears under his breath.

Tim leans closer to the screen, eyes scanning. “They’re running it hot.”

“They’re running it desperate,” Babs replies. “Someone wants it activated tonight. Whether it’s finished or not.”

Dick crosses his arms. “So we shut it down.”

“Yes,” Babs says. “But not cleanly.”

The map shifts again—automated turrets, drone patrols, reinforced bulkheads.

“Security is layered,” she explains.

“Mechanised response systems tied to motion and heat. Cass, Steph—you’re crowd control topside. Duke, you’re cutting exterior power relays. Jason, Dick—goons and internal lockdowns. Tim, you’re with me on system overrides.”

Her cursor pauses.

“Nightingale,” Babs says, and your name in her mouth feels heavier than usual. “You’re the linchpin.”

You straighten slightly.

“You’ll breach the lower level,” Barbara continues. “

Manual access only. The failsafe is old tech—analog switches buried behind the core housing. You’ll have to get close.”

“How close?” Damian asks, sharp.

She exhales. “Close enough that if the converter surges before shutdown… you won’t have time to clear the blast zone.”

Silence.

You don’t move.

Don’t flinch.

You just nod once.

“I can do it,” you say.

Not bravado.

Not arrogance.

Just certainty.

Bruce’s gaze snaps to you. “We’ll find another way.”

“There isn’t one,” Babs cuts in gently but firmly. “I checked. Thrice.”

The screens dim slightly, as if the cave itself is holding its breath.

“The window is narrow,” she continues. “If Nightingale doesn’t flip the failsafe, the blast hits residential zones. Hospitals. Schools.”

She pauses.

“This mission succeeds,” she says quietly, “or people die.”

Your fingers curl into a fist at your side.

“Then we succeed,” you say.

Bruce’s jaw tightens. “Everyone moves fast. No heroics.”

You glance at him, softening just a fraction. “Always do.”

Babs's voice lowers, more human now. “Comms will be open the entire time. I’m with you every step.”

You look up at the screens.

At the red markers.

At the stakes laid bare in light and lines.

“Let’s go,” you say.

The cave roars to life.

And somewhere deep in your chest, something tightens—quiet, unnameable—as the mission begins to move toward you.

Gotham’s industrial quarter is alive with danger—steel skeletons of half-built towers, conveyor belts still humming, floodlights cutting harsh white lines through the dark.

This isn’t a smash-and-grab.

It’s coordinated.

Compartmentalised.

Everyone has a role.

Everyone moves at once.

Dick is already airborne, flipping down a corridor, cracking jokes he doesn’t quite believe. Jason tears through goons with this brutal efficiency, rage tightly leashed. Tim’s fingers fly over a portable console, muttering something under his breath. Steph and Cass move like ghosts, silent, lethal. Duke’s light cuts through darkness as he takes out turret after turret.

You’re everywhere at once—covering Damian, flanking Bruce, moving where you’re needed most.

The stakes are high.

Hostages on-site.

You get it.

The drive is heavy in your hand when you pull it free.

Mission accomplished. The relief is sharp, fleeting.

That’s when the floor shudders.

Not from the main charges.

This is deeper.

Hidden.

A failsafe.

“Oracle—” Bruce starts.

“I didn’t see that—oh god—delayed detonation, structural—Nightingale, MOVE—”

You shove Damian hard, sending him sprawling behind cover.

The explosion tears through the building like it’s made of paper.

You don’t feel pain at first.

Just impact.

Weightlessness.

Then the ground slams into you, breath ripped from your lungs as something punches through your side.

Your suit absorbs some of it. Not enough.

You don’t scream.

You force yourself up.

The building is collapsing in sections, alarms screaming, fire licking at broken beams. You stagger away from the blast zone on pure instinct, every step slower than the last.

Your vision blurs.

Your leg drags.

Something inside you is wrong—wet, hot, spilling.

“Nightingale, respond!” Oracle’s voice cracks for the first time.

“I’m—” You choke. Swallow blood. “I’m clear. Drive secured. Mission complete.”

You make it around the corner, out of immediate danger, and then your body gives up.

You slump against a concrete wall, sliding down until you’re sitting, knees bent awkwardly. When you look down, you finally see it.

The damage.

Shrapnel embedded deep in your abdomen.

Blood soaking through your suit, pooling beneath you.

You bring an ungloved hand to your stomach, only for it to turn into a wet burgundy colour.

“Oh,” you whisper, almost curious. “That’s… bad.”

Your hands shake as you press down, useless. The pain arrives in full then—white-hot, consuming, every nerve screaming at once.

Your breaths turn shallow, ragged.

Each one feels like it might be the last.

“Batman,” you say into the comms.

Once. Then again, weaker. “Batman.”

The comms erupt.

“Batman—what’s happening?” Dick. “Is anyone injured—” Steph.

He’s there almost immediately, cowl off, dropping to his knees in front of you. His breath leaves him in a sharp, broken sound when he sees you.

“No,” he says. “No, no, no.”

He presses his hands to your wound, tries to apply pressure, tries to be Batman about it—but it’s slipping through his fingers.

There’s too much blood.

Your skin is already going cold.

“You finished the mission,” he says desperately. “You did it. Help is coming.”

You look at him, really look at him.

Your dad. The man who’s always saved everyone.

Your thoughts then return to the state of your body.

You’re so tired.

The world feels distant, almost like you’re underwater.

You think, fleetingly, about Jason—about how he died scared and alone, about whether this is how it felt.

You reach for your father, arms weak, wrapping around his neck the way you did when you were little.

Childlike. Instinctive.

He pulls you closer immediately, a hand behind your head, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Your breathing stutters.

Your heart flutters, then slows.

Bruce rocks you slightly, forehead pressed to yours, tears streaming unchecked.

“I’m here,” he sobs. “I’ve got you.

You manage the ghost of a smile

Fear crashes into you then, raw and haunting. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he whispers, breaking. “Stay with me.”

“Daddy,” you breathe, the word slipping out like a prayer.

“Am I gonna die?”

The comms are silent.

Everyone hears it.

“No,” he says, lying badly.

“Promise?”

He doesn't answer

You smile faintly. “I did it though, right?”

“You saved them,” he chokes. “You saved everyone.”

“That’s good,” you whisper. Your breath rattles. “That’s… really good.”

Damian skids in, dropping beside you, hands shaking as he grabs your arm.

“Do not leave,” he says fiercely, his voice breaking, trying to remain stoic but the sight of you bleeding out makes a rare breed of horror blossom in his chest.

“I forbid it.”

You look at him.

Your little brother.

So angry.

So scared.

You gaze at his face a little while longer, he glares back.

“You’re… so strong,” you murmur. “You’re gonna be better than all of us.”

“Say it later,” he pleads, he was getting desperate. He held your gloved hand in his.

“Say it when we’re home.”

You try to breathe again.

You can’t.

Your chest tightens, a string of wheezes comes out of you. Your vision starts to go dark at the edges. You give Damian's hand one last squeeze.

“I love you,” you say—to all of them. “Hey, uh tell, tell Alfred I—”

Your heart stutters.

Once.

Twice.

Then stops.

A sigh escapes your lips, followed by your eyes closing, your grip loosening on Damian's hand.

Bruce feels it happen in his arms.

“No,” he whispers. “No—no—baby please—”

Your body goes limp.

The first thing they see is the blood.

Your blood.

It’s dark against the concrete, soaking into the cracks of the floor, smeared across Bruce’s gloves, streaked along the edge of your suit. It doesn’t look real at first—too much, too still.

Bruce is on his knees, cowl off, hunched over you like a shield, your body folded against his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin the way it used to be when you fell asleep on long flights.

For one suspended, awful second, no one moves.

Dick is the first to arrive—and the first to understand.

He skids to a stop a few feet away, boots scraping against debris, escrima sticks dropping to the ground, breath leaving him in a broken sound that doesn’t quite qualify as a word. His eyes track slowly, unwillingly, from Bruce’s face down to your limp arm hanging at an unnatural angle, fingers slack, utterly unresponsive.

“Oh,” he whispers. “No. No, no—Y/” He couldn't bring himself to speak your whole name. Babs tears are heard over the comms, not loud, but there.

Jason comes in hard behind him, ready for violence, already braced for another fight. The rage drains from his face in an instant. He freezes mid-step, dropping his gun, helmet tilting as if his brain can’t process what his eyes are telling him.

Bruce looks up.

His face is wrecked—blood, tears, something raw and unrecognisable carved into his expression.

He doesn’t say anything.

Because he doesn’t have to.

Jason’s breath punches out of him. “Bruce…?” His voice is hoarse, disbelieving, his helmets in-built voice modulator doing little to hide his heartbreak. “Why isn't—why—what happened?”

Tim arrives next and stops so abruptly he nearly trips over himself. His gaze snaps to the ground first—always the details—a crimson pattern, blast residue, the sickening scent of gunpowder, the way Bruce’s arms are locked around you too tightly, too desperately.

“The fuck.” Tim says immediately.

Sharp. Panicked.

“No, that’s not—she’s just—she’s unconscious, right? She’s—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

He turns away suddenly, hands braced on his knees, his chest heaves as his body betrays him. The sound of him getting sick, his retches, echoes too loud in the ruined space, obscene in its normalcy. The sight of your lifeless body was nauseating, that combined with the smell of iron in the air made something churn in his stomach.

Stephanie stumbles in, already breathless from running.

She sees Dick on his knees.

Jason frozen.

Tim retching.

Then she sees you.

Her hands fly to her mouth.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, the words fracturing into a sob. “Oh my god, no—no—”

Her breathing goes erratic, shallow and fast, chest hitching as panic sets in. Cass is there immediately, silent and steady, gripping Steph’s wrists to ground her, forehead pressed briefly to her temple. Cass’s own face is pale, eyes dark and glassy, fixed on the way your head lolls against Bruce’s shoulder, lifeless.

Duke arrives last, light flickering uselessly across the devastation.

He takes one look and goes very, very still.

“She was just—” he starts, then stops.

Swallows.

“She was just talking.”

Damian makes a noise from beside you.

“Father,” he says, voice cracking. “Why is she not responding?”

Asking even though he knows the answer.

After all, Damian is rather accustomed to death.

Just not when it's someone he loves.

Bruce finally moves then—just enough to adjust you in his arms, to tuck you closer like he can still protect you from the world if he holds on tight enough.

“She saved the mission,” Bruce says, hollow. “She saved everyone.”

The silence is foreboding, so suffocating, that everyone can hear a couple drops of your blood hit the pool already on the floor as Bruce stands.

Damian shakes his head sharply, denial flashing hot and violent across his face. “That is not an answer.”

No one has one.

The sirens in the distance fade.

The fire dies down.

Gotham keeps breathing.

You however, don’t.

The Batcave has never felt so big.

Every footstep echoes too loudly as Bruce carries you down the platform, your weight slack against his chest. Alfred stands at the base of the stairs, posture perfect out of sheer habit, but his hands tremble violently at his sides.

He takes one look at you and his composure shatters.

“Oh,” Alfred breathes, stepping forward despite himself.

His voice breaks completely. “My dear child…”

Bruce doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t look at anyone.

He lays you down on the central platform with a care so reverent it hurts to watch.

Your cowl is removed. Your hair spills loose. You look peaceful in a way that feels wrong—like a lie, it looks like you'll wake up at any second.

Everyone stands around you in a loose, broken circle.

Tim sinks down against a console, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Steph paces in tight circles, muttering under her breath, eyes wild, trying not to scream. Duke leans against the Batmobile, staring at the floor like if he looks up, something inside him will fracture permanently. Cass stands closest to you, silent tears sliding down her face, fingers curled into fists at her sides.

Jason doesn’t move at all. He stands in the shadows, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched so hard it might crack.

His eyes never leave your face.

Dick finally rises, unsteady, and steps closer. He reaches out like he’s going to touch your shoulder—then stops himself. His hand falls uselessly back to his side.

“I was supposed to get there faster,” he says softly. “I should’ve—”

Bruce lets out a sound that is barely human.

Alfred places a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, gentle, devastating.

“Master Bruce,” he murmurs. “You may let her rest now.”

Bruce doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t move.

He just stares at you, eyes hollow, arms empty for the first time since he carried you out of the ruins—like if he looks away, the truth might finally sink in.

And none of them are ready for that.

Damian does not collapse when it happens.

Not in the tunnel.

Not in the Cave.

Not when Alfred’s voice breaks.

Not when Bruce doesn’t move.

He stands beside the platform where your body lies, blood cleaned away, hands clenched so tightly his gloves creak. He watches Bruce like he’s waiting for him to fix it. To undo it. To do something impossible, because Batman always does. But tonight, he's just Bruce Wayne, a father.

When no one does—when no one can—Damian simply turns and leaves.

No one stops him.

He opens the door to your room.

It still smells like you.

It’s subtle—fabric softener, shampoo, something sweet he can’t place, the inviting scent of your perfume. Damian closes the door behind him and stands very still, like the air might shatter if he moves too fast.

Your dog, Elizabeth Taylor lifts up her little head from her luxury velvet dog bed you insisted on getting her, expecting you, but looking rather dejected at the sight of Damian, regardless, she trots over to him in a sleepy state and demands to be held.

Damian holds her to his heart reverently.

Your bed is made.

Too neatly.

Alfred must have done it.

The dress is gone.

He notices that immediately.

For a split second, irrational hope flares—you’re wearing it. Then reality crashes back in, merciless.

Damian walks to your vanity, putting Elizabeth on your bed. Your things are still there: lip gloss, a hair tie, the stupid pen you stole from him and never gave back. He opens the drawer without thinking.

That’s when he sees it.

The Polaroid.

It’s crooked, half-slid under a soothing face mask.

He pulls it free with shaking fingers.

It’s the two of you, squeezed into the frame. You’re perched on the edge of the vanity, grinning like you’ve just gotten away with something. Damian is scowling, arms crossed, but his shoulder is pressed into yours. He remembers this—remember you laughing because he “looked like a pissed-off cat.”

His breath stutters.

He sits down hard on the floor, back against the vanity, Polaroid clutched to his chest like it might burn a hole through him.

“You promised,” he whispers.

His voice cracks on the second word.

The sound that comes out of him next is raw and small and nothing like Robin. It echoes in the room, swallowed by silk curtains and expensive furniture that suddenly feels obscene.

Damian Wayne cries alone on his older sister’s bedroom floor, forehead pressed to his knees, the Polaroid trembling in his hands.

Damian Wayne was accustomed to death.

But not to grief.

The world doesn’t find out right away.

For thirty-two hours at least, everything stays contained in the cave—sealed behind stone, firewalls, and the kind of silence only grief can produce.

Bruce doesn’t release a statement.

Wayne Enterprises goes dark.

The Watchtower runs on autopilot.

Dick is unreachable.

Phones ring and ring and ring until they stop.

In those thirty-two hours, the city keeps moving.

People go to work.

Kids go to school.

News cycles churn through politics and markets and weather.

Your name doesn’t exist on the ticker.

Yet.

And then, suddenly, it does.

The screen fades in from black to the familiar set of the Central City Citizen Evening News broadcast.

The television is already on when it happens.

Dinah isn’t really watching it—just background noise while she wipes down the kitchen counter, humming softly to herself. Ollie’s voice drifts in from the living room, sharp and animated as he argues with someone from Queen Industries on the phone about patrol rotations, about coverage, about things that still assume the world is intact.

The anchor changes.

Dinah glances up without thinking.

It’s Iris.

She’s dressed in black.

Something cold drops straight through Dinah’s chest before a single word is spoken.

Iris’s hands are folded on the desk, fingers interlaced too tightly, her engagement ring gleaming, knuckles pale under the studio lights. Her expression—usually warm, composed, unshakeable—is fractured.

There’s a pause.

Too long.

Long enough for dread to bloom and take root.

“It is with a heavy heart,” Iris begins, and her voice is already unsteady, “that I inform you all that one of America’s most beloved young women—”

Dinah’s hand stills on the counter.

“—daughter of Bruce Wayne, philanthropist, women's rights activist, and humanitarian, Y/N Wayne—”

The room tilts.

The cloth slips from Dinah’s fingers and hits the floor soundlessly.

“—has tragically passed away.”

Dinah stares at the screen.

The words don’t make sense.

They slide past her, wrong and unreal, like a language she doesn’t speak. Her ears ring, a high, thin sound drowning out everything else.

Iris swallows hard, eyes shining.

“According to officials,” she continues, slower now, careful, “Her death has been ruled a suicide. She was found dead in her bedroom approximately thirty-two hours ago. Authorities have stated there is no evidence of foul play at this time.”

Suicide.

The word lands like a gunshot.

Dinah’s breath leaves her all at once. “No,” she whispers, the denial automatic, instinctive. “No, that’s not—”

Iris presses on, voice trembling but determined.

“Y/N Wayne was more than a public figure,” she says. “She was… she was a light. A young woman who used her platform not for vanity, but for service. For change.”

Her voice breaks on the last word.

Dinah’s knees buckle.

She reaches for the counter and misses, sinking down onto the kitchen floor as if gravity has suddenly doubled. Her back hits the cabinet, the impact sharp but distant. Her chest aches, tight and hollow at the same time.

Iris looks down at her notes, then back up—and she’s crying now.

She doesn’t hide it.

Tears spill freely, tracking down her face as she struggles to breathe evenly.

“Those of us who knew her personally,” Iris says, choking, “knew her kindness. Her humor. Her unwavering belief in the good of people—especially heroes who never thought of themselves that way.”

“I loved her,” Iris admits, voice barely holding together. “She loved my family. And today—today the world is quieter without her.”

Iris lifts a hand to her mouth as the tears finally overwhelm her. The camera lingers—not cruelly, but honestly. A nation watching a woman grieve in real time.

The broadcast fades to footage of you.

Photos.

Videos.

You laughing at a gala.

You and Cassandra in your father's arms .

You standing between Dinah and Ollie, grinning wide, arms slung around them like you belonged there—because you did.

Dinah makes a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a gasp.

Ollie is there suddenly, phone forgotten, kneeling in front of her. His face is white, eyes fixed on the screen behind her.

“That’s—” His voice cracks. “Dinah, that’s not real. That’s not—”

She shakes her head, tears streaming unchecked. “She was here,” Dinah whispers. “Ollie, she was here two nights ago.”

Ollie freezes.

The memory hits them both at once.

You sprawled across their couch, feet kicked up on Ollie’s lap despite his protests. Dinah braiding your hair absentmindedly while you gossiped about nothing and everything. You laughing when one of your AirPods slipped out and vanished into the cushions.

I’ll grab them after a mission, you’d said, waving it off because your father called you home to get ready for Damian's piano recital. Promise.

Dinah’s gaze snaps to the side table.

The AirPods case sits there.

Exactly where you left it.

“Oh my god,” Dinah sobs, clutching it to her chest like it might shatter. “She was coming back.”

Ollie pulls her into his arms, holding her tight, his own breath hitching as he presses his forehead to hers. His voice is raw when he speaks.

Ollie pulls her into his arms, holding her tight, his own breath hitching as he presses his forehead to hers. His voice is raw when he speaks.

“She was supposed to come back.”

The television keeps playing in the background—other anchors now, other networks, all saying your name, all using the same words: tragic, shocking, suicide, beloved.

The world keeps turning.

But in the penthouse, time stops.

The Watchtower meeting room is stalled.

Not delayed—stalled.

Bruce’s chair is empty, again.

At first it’s irritation.

Subtle, restrained, but there. Hal keeps glancing at the chrono on the wall. Guy’s already leaned back, arms crossed, foot tapping, irritation buzzing off him like static.

“We can’t keep waiting,” Guy mutters. “The agenda’s stacked, and Bats doesn’t own the clock.”

“He owns this room,” Hal replies automatically—then stops. Because even he doesn’t fully believe that right now.

Something feels wrong.

Clark has been uneasy since he arrived. He hasn’t said it out loud, because saying it would make it real, but his hands haven’t stopped clenching and unclenching at his sides. His hearing keeps drifting, involuntarily, searching for a sound that should exist.

A heartbeat.

A familiar one.

It stopped a day and a bit ago.

Abruptly.

Completely.

While he was in his sleep.

He told himself it was interference.

Space does weird things to sound.

Magic does worse.

He told himself anything except the truth clawing at the base of his throat.

J’onn feels it before the screen turns on.

The emotional temperature of the room drops—sharp, sudden, like oxygen being sucked out.

Fear, confusion, dread. A collective intake of breath that never quite releases.

The broadcast flickers to life.

Iris West.

Black dress.

Hands folded too tightly.

The shock is deafening.

Every single one of them locks in.

Barry is already on his feet. “Why is Iris—”

The name hits.

The ruling hits harder.

Suicide.

No one moves.

No one breathes.

It’s like every sound has been sucked out of the Watchtower at once.

Hal’s boots hit the floor with a sharp clang. “That’s—no. That’s not—” He drags a hand down his face. “Oh God, that’s Bruce’s kid.”

Arthur mutters a curse under his breath, ancient and furious. Diana’s eyes widen—not in disbelief, but in something far worse: recognition.

Clark staggers back half a step.

He doesn’t speak at first.

Then, quietly—devastatingly— “I felt it.”

Every head snaps toward him.

Superman's voice shakes. “I didn’t know what it was at first. Just… silence. Like something vanished from the world.”

His hands curl into fists. “Her heart stopped. I heard it. And I couldn’t get there in time.”

Barry swallows hard. “Clark…”

Diana finally speaks, a hand on her heart, voice low and steady and cracked straight through the middle.

“This world does not spare the gentle.” She says solemnly.

No one argues.

They all look, again, at Bruce’s empty seat.

“That’s why,” Hal says hoarsely. “That’s why he hasn’t answered. That’s why Dick vanished.”

Diana closes her eyes. “He has lost a child.”

The Watchtower remains silent.

No Bats. No Batman. Only the echo of something irreplaceable gone.

At Titans Tower, the mood curdles into something heavy and sick when they get a glimpse of the TV.

Before that though, the Titans’ tower felt wrong.

Too quiet.

Too still.

Like the air’s gone bad.

Dick hasn’t answered in days.

That alone has everyone on edge.

Wally’s pacing, too fast even for him. Kori stands near the window, staring out into the night sky like she’s waiting for it to explain itself. Roy’s sitting on the arm of the couch, bouncing his knee. Garth hasn’t moved in ten minutes.

Donna’s phone buzzes.

Once.

She glances down without thinking.

And then she gasps—sharp, loud, visceral.

“What?” Roy asks immediately.

Donna doesn’t answer. Her face drains of colour as she stares at the screen, fingers trembling.

“Oh no…no, no, no, no” she whispers.

They’re on their feet before she even says it.

She turns the phone so they can see.

Y/N WAYNE DEAD. GOTHAM HEIRESS COMMITTED SUICIDE BRUCE WAYNE LOSES A DAUGHTER

Someone turns on the TV. It doesn’t matter who.

Every channel. Every headline.

Every word is unbearable.

The understand now why Dick went off the grid.

His sister was dead.

Lois is already crying when Jon walks into the room.

The volume is low, but it doesn’t matter. He sees Iris. He sees the black. He sees your picture on the screen.

“No,” Jon says immediately. “No, that’s not—”

Lois pulls him into her arms as the words land.

His big sister. Gone.

“She wouldn’t,” he sobs. “She wouldn’t leave. Mom that's not fair.”

Lois’s voice breaks. “I know, sweetheart.”

“They said she did it to herself,” Jon cries, devastated, angry, confused. “Why would she do that? Why didn’t she tell us?”

Lois holds him tighter, tears soaking into his hair. “Sometimes people hurt in ways they don’t know how to explain.” She couldn't tell him what all the other heroes knew, what Clark had called her to tell.

You died in combat.

Jon looks back at the screen, chest heaving. “She was my big sister,” he whispers. “She was supposed to be there.”

Lois can’t answer that.

No one can.

The day of your funeral, the city feels muted the moment people begin to arrive.

Not quiet—muted.

Like someone turned the saturation down on the world and left only grey behind. Gotham’s skyline looms in the distance, blurred beneath swollen, low-hanging clouds that threaten rain but never quite deliver.

Outside the funeral hall, black cars line the street in perfect, somber symmetry. Drivers wait with hands folded over steering wheels. Security stands still, eyes forward, expressions carefully neutral.

Inside, the air is heavy enough to press against the lungs.

Every step echoes too loudly.

Every whisper feels like an intrusion.

The hall itself is vast, elegant, suffocating in its stillness.

Black drapery cascades from the ceiling, broken only by soft white light trained on the front of the room. Your casket rests there—closed, polished, devastating. White lilies and roses surround it in excess, their scent thick and cloying, curling into throats until breathing feels like work.

A slideshow plays silently on a massive screen behind the podium.

You as a child, perched on Bruce’s shoulders, laughing. You with Dick, missing teeth and scraped knees. You between Steph and Cass, arms slung around their waists. You holding Damian when he was younger, his scowl already perfected. You sprawled on the floor of the library with Tim and Jason, surrounded by books.

You holding Elizabeth Taylor the day you got her. You at galas.

You with your family.

You alive.

Steph sits in the front row, clutching Elizabeth Taylor to her chest. Your dog is wrapped in a warm blanket, donning small black ribbons at her ears, her body trembling slightly as she whines under her breath, confused by the absence she doesn’t understand. Steph’s jaw is clenched tight, tears streaking silently down her face as she buries her nose briefly into the soft fur.

Cass sits beside her, rigid, eyes locked on the casket like if she looks away, something worse might happen. Duke’s hand grips hers so tightly his knuckles threaten to pop. Tim sits just beyond them with his friends, shoulders slumped, gaze unfocused, like he’s only halfway present in his own body.

Jason stands behind Dick, close enough that his presence is felt even when neither of them speaks. Dick hasn’t stopped shaking since he walked in.

The Justice League fills row after row—Clark, Lois, and Jon seated together. Jon’s face is blotchy and red, eyes fixed on the floor, fists clenched in the fabric of his suit pants. Diana sits tall and unmoving, grief carved into the stillness of her posture, Steve mirroring that. Barry’s leg bounces uncontrollably; Iris keeps one hand wrapped around his wrist like an anchor. Hal stares straight ahead, jaw tight. Arthur’s massive hands rest on his knees, fingers flexing slowly, Mera's face hasn't changed from one of sorrow. J’onn sits quietly, his presence heavy with emotion he cannot shut out. Zatanna and John, Shayerah, Ted and Michael, all grieving in their own ways.

The Titans occupy an entire section—Donna’s expression is carved from stone, Wally’s leg jittering as he presses his palms together, Kori’s eyes glowing faintly with restrained grief, Roy’s jaw set hard, Kyle staring blankly at the slideshow as if he’s afraid to blink.

Members of the GCPD, Commissioner Gordon and Babs, WE Board members, Luke and Lucius, all present.

When Bruce enters, the room changes.

He walks slowly, deliberately, dressed in black so severe it feels ceremonial.

He holds Damian’s hand, his grip firm, grounding. Damian walks beside him, spine straight, chin lifted, his green eyes glassy but unblinking. The room rises instinctively, respect and grief pulling them to their feet.

Bruce does not look at anyone.

He looks at you.

At the casket.

At the photos.

At the life he is being asked to survive.

He and Damian take their places in the front row.

Bruce does not let go of his son’s hand.

The service begins.

Words are spoken—formal, respectful, distant.

Achievements are listed.

Foundations named.

Your kindness, your generosity, your advocacy spoken of like a legacy carved in stone.

But it’s the slideshow that breaks people.

Photo after photo of you woven between speeches, proof that you were here. That you mattered.

Dick is the first to stand.

He makes it three steps before he stops, hand braced on the podium like he needs it to stay upright. He looks out at the room, at the heroes, the family, the people who loved you. His mouth opens. Closes.

“Y/N was my sister,” he says, voice already splintering. “My baby sister.”

A photo flashes behind him—Dick at eight years old, grinning proudly with you balanced on Bruce’s arm, two years old and giggling.

“I was supposed to protect her,” Dick continues, tears spilling freely now. “That was my job. I thought— I really thought I’d always be there in time.”

His shoulders collapse inward.

“She was everything good,” he sobs. “Everything bright. And I couldn’t— I couldn’t save her.”

He can’t finish.

Wally and Roy are beside him instantly, arms around his shoulders, guiding him gently away as Dick clings to them like he’s drowning.

Tim stands next.

He hesitates before speaking, eyes flicking briefly to the casket, then away.

“In the beginning,” Tim says quietly, “me and Y/N didn’t actually get along that well.”

“I thought she was too stuck up,” he continues, voice shaking. “She thought I was trying too hard to impress Dad.”

A few sad, breathless laughs ripple through the room.

He swallows.

“I’m happy to say we don’t think like that anymore.”

His fingers grip the edge of the podium. He stumbles over his next words.

“Y/N wa—” He stops. He couldn't bring himself to say 'was'

Breath hitching.

“Is— is, Y/N is the greatest of all time.”

A photo flashes—Tim and you sprawled on the Batcave floor, surrounded by schematics and snacks.

“She isn’t just my sister,” Tim says, tears slipping down unchecked now, “she’s my friend. And I think her presence in my life is one of the greatest blessings I’ve ever had. I think I’m so privileged to have known her personally.”

His voice breaks completely.

“I think— I think losing someone you love this much,” Tim continues, “it’s like losing a tooth. At first there’s blood. Panic. Pain. But after it fades, there’s just… this empty space.”

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek unconsciously.

“And you feel it every time you move. Every time you breathe, every time you eat. And it hurts. A lot.”

The slideshow changes—your handwriting on a sticky note, a book left unfinished on the coffee table, a pair of Crocs abandoned by Tim’s bedroom door, your sweater draped over a chair.

“I see her everywhere,” Tim whispers. “In the pictures on the walls. In the book she didn’t finish reading. In the sweater she left on my chair. I tried to play Minecraft to get away from it… but all I could think about was the world we built together.”

He steps away, shoulders shaking.

Damian follows.

He stands stiffly, hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward.

“This morning,” Damian says, voice quiet but razor-sharp with control, “I walked into my ukhti’s room expecting her to be there.”

A photo appears—Damian sitting on your bed, scowling while you grin at the camera.

“I went there instinctually,” he continues. “I thought I would hear her say, ‘Damian, what do you want?’”

His throat tightens.

“But there was nothing.”

His eyes flick briefly to Bruce.

“Her room is next to mine,” Damian says. “Normally in the evenings, I hear her closet shuffling. Her telling Elizabeth off for… defiling couture and chewing on her shoes. Or the girls causing chaos.”

Silence stretches.

“I heard nothing.”

Bruce stands last.

The room feels like it caves inward.

“My daughter,” he begins.

The word lands like a blow.

“I buried my parents,” Bruce continues, voice steady but frayed at the edges. “And now I am burying my child.”

The room breaks.

Quiet sobs. Hands to mouths. Iris presses her face into Barry’s shoulder.

“She made this world better,” Bruce says. “And I will live every day knowing it no longer has her in it.”

The burial at Wayne Manor is quieter.

Smaller.

More devastating.

The casket is lowered beside Thomas and Martha Wayne. Damian steps forward and places something small atop it. Bruce remains standing long after everyone else steps back.

Alfred approaches him, eyes red, hands trembling.

“I am so very sorry, Master Bruce,” he says softly.

Bruce exhales, shoulders sagging.

“I wasn’t supposed to outlive her,” he whispers.

Alfred bows his head.

Damian stares at the grave, silent, shattered.

The world moves on.

But something essential has ended.

And nothing will ever recover from it.

A/N: got yo ass heheheheh nah but i feel like i did rlly well on this one, super happy with how it came out. lmk what you guys think! i have this feeling im gonna gate death threats in my inbox idk. ill get back to my 2k event trust. give me ideas for part 2 guys.

dividers from @cafekitsune

[sangunary]

- Batfamily × Neglected Reader!

- Your Big stupid Heart Will Bleed Till Death.

SYPNOSIS: Being the oldest of the family you only wanted to protect them from the world, even when they turn against you, your stupid big heart will bleed forever for your family till the end of time.

- I know I quit writing but I wish to finsih my draft atleast. Not proof read either.

Warning: DO NOT READ IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE HEAVY TOPIC( example: suicide, phobia, shaming, etc).

" I'll protect you forever! Your big sibling Will never let harm catch you, I can do kungfu! "

Twenty two years ago, Bruce Wayne took you in.

You were starving on the street, clinging to life. Before you could close your eyes you felt the chilling warmth of a man. Batman.

Years later you became the first robin, it was great, brutal even.

Bruce wasn't a good father, he was a good mentor but he wasn't prepared to be a father.

He took you in as his prodigy or a pity child. You couldn't careless. You owed him, he saved you from the slum, you're indebted to him.

For you his gaze were cold, words were lifeless and your moments together felt like a rope tied to you two, doesn't feel mutual, felt forceful.

You tried your best to be his favourite, the best sidekick, the best child, best prodigy. Alfred could see your determination, never thinning always glowing.

" You're a special kid, Young master... You have a big heart, it's rare and I admire it. Don't let the world crush it "

He would advise, he knew that Bruce was too cruel especially to a kid like you, he tried to talk sense into Bruce but... He understand why Bruce wasn't ready.

Alfred only wanted the best for the both of you, but for that to be true... One of you will have to suffer, he doesn't want that.

He tried his best for you, but, you can't force someone someone to be a dad.

Being a dad isn't just responsibility of another person who needs to be guided... To be a dad is to be present in someone's life no matter the age, everyone wants to have a dad.

"Master Bruce, the kid needs you..."

He would call out, Bruce was busy with crimes in Gotham no time for your tantrums or problems... Alfred was the guide, Bruce was the decipline, atleast that's what he thought.

Just another illusion to feel like he was apart of your life... Even if it meant not much, Bruce just needs to feel like he's apart of your life to get the guilt going.

"Im sorry Alfred, im busy. Something is seriously wrong with the new company, I need to investigate. They're a big kid now, they can handle themselves... I believe that"

Alfred frowned upon his words. To some that sounds like believe in the kid, but Alfred knew better... Bruce only believe that you can help yourself, not because he thinks you're strong or believe you just because he needs a reason to not feel guilt.

"They're only twelve, they need their father... It's been hours, they're crying nonstop, Master Bruce, I never want to force you but you need to be the father in their life atleast once"

Bruce could only rub his temple in annoyance, he could never argue with Alfred over the truth.

Deep down Bruce knew that he was in the wrong, to act so brutal towards his child... He wanted to be there but he just Cant.

Something about you was just so repulsive.

He knew, he knew that he fucked up. He also knew that neglecting you isn't going to end well... He also knew that he doesn't want to be your father.

It's not like you ask him to be one...

" Im not their father. "

Bruce said, was it the stress talking? or was it the truth taking over him.

Unfortunately, you overheard his comment.

Standing outside his office, your smile drop.

You can feel your organs flushing down the endless pit inside you... Suddenly the world went quite for you, only his words repeating itself in your head.

Initially you just wanted to be with your father, a hangout... You got more than a hangout in the end.

The feeling of not being wanted sting, it hurt, so bad. It's not even your fault but why does it feel like it's your fault that he doesn't want you.

What's so bad about being... your father? Why was it so disgusting for him? Is it because you were simply disgusting, trash or just because you're you that he didn't want you.

You felt stupid, utterly stupid. The man you look up to, shining light on him and all... Your supposed father, never wanted you? How did you never knew...

Still, did he not want you because you're you? Or would he treat any child the same.

You Didn't need to cry yourself to sleep over that though for too long, because he came along- Richard Dick Grayson came.

He was so innocent, a victim to witnessing his parents die. God, you should have knew... The way Bruce smile while watching him roam the house... It felt strange.

For the first time in your life, you saw Bruce feeling the need to be a proper father. Of course not towards you, but towards that hopeless boy... Never you.

Yet you tried so hard- so hard to sew the family together...

" Im so happy to meet you, you can call me your big sibling...! "

You enthusiastically shake his hand. He was real fun, always smiling, playing together and even sharing secrets.

You truly love him, in a sense a biological siblings would love eachother.

Until he robbed you of your mantle as Robin.

That night, you couldn't help it.

The Robin title was your everything, the only thing that made you feel close to Bruce... Yes, you were still foolishly chasing for his approval and love but who could blame you?

And taking your identity as Robin was just not about being a vigilante or Bruce... It was your only source of attention from others... Your only way to shine, to be seen and loved and...

Surely Bruce would hesitate, he would surely remember of the day when you first held the mantle in your hands, you almost cries.

For once in your life, you were handed something out of being cared for not because of obligation or so you thought...

But , Bruce gave him the mantle, replaced you. Without a single fucking thought...

He replaced you so easily, you felt so insignificant, as if your role was just a prototype before the real deal was finished.

Your relationship with Dick slowly drifted in the end. Bruce and him were the duo of Gotham... What about you?

You could only watch from the shadow as he took the spotlight. It hurt, alot.

Watching the person you want as your dad in the spotlight with... someone who isn't you, hurt.

You wanted to be happy but, you couldn't help but cry in secret. If he could be a father for him why can't he be one for you? What's wrong with you that he doesn't want you? What do you need to do to be loved by your father...?

Grayson couldn't spare his time with you much, he was boy wonder, while you... you were nothing but a replacement bird. How sad. How fucking sad your life is.

Then you left home, for collage... What could you have done anyway. Whine? Cry? As if they'll care.

Bruce never called, Dick called rarely, Alfred was your Anchor for everything.

If not for Alfred you would have cuss out Bruce for years of tears and energy you spent for his approval.

Then while you were gone Jason came along after Dick became Nightwing.

You hated your life so much, but you did came home frequently. As much as your relationship with your family was thinning out, you still love them... In your big heart.

" Jason right? Im happy to have you as part of the family... "

Jason was your favourite, you tried your best with Dick but he was in deep sorrow... thinking that Bruce replaced him.

You knew the feeling... But, deep inside you just really wanted to hug him. Tell him that it's alright, you will always be proud of him... Even if he stole your only connection to Bruce...

Jason was the best, he was somewhat mischievous but it was fun, you two get along despite the age gap.

He was like you, from the slum.. In need of help, but unlike you... Bruce was a great father to him.

Watching them together as they smile hurt so much, you shouldn't be jealous of a kid for... spending time with their dad but... Holy, it fucking hurt.

Wiping your tears with your hand you couldn't help but smile.

" Atleast you have something I wanted... "

Jason was a good kid, he deserves a father... You wish you were good enough to his kid too, but it's already too late.

But, one day while you were away from Gotham Alfred called.

Jason died... under Bruce eyes...

That day, was the worst day of your life.

You didn't stop arguing with Bruce the whole time, you couldn't forgive him, how could he be so careless and let him die...

Bruce was brutal as well... Too damn Brutal, the death of Jason definitely help him be more truthful.

" I knew a child like you only cause nothing but problems, I shouldn't have taken you at all... Nothing but burden from the start "

He spit in your face.

The moment his words landed on you, you could feel the world stopping, yeah you knew but why does it hurt so bad...

It was as if years of wounds opened again after you assumed they heal.

" Master Bruce! Mind yourself, you're speaking out of anger towards your own chil- "

"Enough Bruce, they are no child of mine... I did nothing as a father for them... They do not deserve to be *my* child"

...

...

...

...

" I see... "

Your voice came out, a whisper... As if you were bathing yourself in his word.

The world turned dark, or blurry? you felt cold yet from the tip to your toe you felt the heat radiating...

Throat drying out and your organs were squirming around in your stomach, you were hyper observant of your own body, how your fingers were trembling slightly or how you couldn't stop you muscle from tensing up.

"I-..."

You wanted to speak but you couldn't, it hurt so bad.. So bad, so bad, so bad, so bad...

If he didn't want you why must he do this, to be in your life yet to not be there. How? how does he do it?

Evryone thinks he's so mighty yet he won't accept YOU, what did you ever do to him, you only wanted his love, is it so wrong for a child to need love?

He only acted responsible but he was never caring. Acted out of obligation.

You wanted to claw his throat out, grab his neck and scream and yell, shouting out why he wouldn't love you...

But only you could imagine, in truth you were stuck, frozen, tears rolling down before you could blink...

You press your lips thin together, swallowing your own saliva becomes difficult now... You gave never felt so seen in the worst way possible.

"Young master... Master Bruce is merely stressed and the death or master Jason is making him say something he will regret"

Alfred as usual tried to comfort or ease the tension rising.

"Master Bruce, I do not wish to be in such position ever to correct you but your grief of Master Jason's death give you no privilege to act so barbaric, to curse the child you took under you when they never ask of you... I hope you know that cursing then will only hurt you later"

A lengthy of words, but you couldn't even hear them over Bruce voice...

"I'll be leaving... I assume that you'll be much happier that way..."

Without hesitation you left... You didn't want to hear their words... You just couldn't.

Bruce words of 'not wanting you' , 'burden' , 'problem child' they all were overlapping inside your head... As if a crowd of people were yellow that at you.

-

" So what happened next? You mean to say father incompetence ruin his relationship with his first responsibility, I cannot believe that I could ever be ashame of father's action but I currently am"

Damian ask Dick.

It was christmas, lively, cold and everything nice... And a bunch of kids(one kid, one teen and two adult but all together... kids) were sitting in the cozy big room.

Unfortunately the topic of the first Robin came up.

Dick hesitantly told them the tale of, afterall only Tim and Damian knew nothing of you.

"I never counted B to he the type to act so... cold, towards a child".

Tim added, it's hard to imagine the hero of Gotham and their Bruce to he so... Cruel.

Jason sigh, looking bored as usual... Afterall he wasn't there at his own agreement rather pressured by Alfred.

"Why do you two even care about such old time story?".

"Well unlike you, I certainly care about the past... No wonder you did terribly at History back than"

Damian insulted him, Jason was not that even mad, hell he could barely care about the dog barking.

"Eitherway, what happened? Yknow, after Jason's death... I did know about them but ever since I took the mantle I never saw them once..."

Tim was quite- no very interested in this whole story.

Afterall, five years ago he did try to find you and your information but nothing... As if Bruce himself wipe you.

But in the end Bruce found out about the truth, warned Tim and unfortunately the idea somehow slip out of his mind.

"They're fine, happy... with a family... They cut tie with us but im pretty sure that is the best option for them"

Dick said, he was sad of the outcome but it was the best one.

"Are you certain?"

Damian asked. It's such a flat answer, it's hard to believe that after all that story it's just yay happy ending.

"Belive it or not, that's the truth"

Jason added. Tim and Damian were still abit skeptical but these two are the only source of information, so no choice but to unwillingly agree.

After dinner Jason was smoking outside the maynor, it was comforting and quite stress free moment until he heard Dicks footstep.

"There you are, let's go"

Dick was wearing the black muffler given by Alfred, it was cozy and quite warm... perfect for the cold weather of Christmas.

"Next time, I'll leave your ass behind"

A warning or a threat... Dick couldn't help but laugh at it anyway, he didn't even take it seriously.

Chatting idly they began to walk out the gate of the maynor, deeper into the wood, the crunching of snow beneath their feet.

For a moment, you could see two yount boys walking down... As if the past was fixed and instead of Dick ignoring Jason the two of them, or the younger imagine of them were getting together as intended.

"Here we are... It's awfully peaceful here"

Dick chuckled as he clean the stone that was covered in snow with such tenderness.

"Why did you argue on it being here then on the compound of the maynor...?"

Jason ask, to be honest walking 2 miles was nothing but abit illogical when the 2 miles could have been 34 steps.

"Cause, they'll hate to be so close to the maynor... for them, that place only brings pain"

"I don't understand how you could... Lie to those dumb ass... I hate the way you covered for Bruce and how... you let your delusion run"

Jason sit down on the ground as he let out his lighter lighting his cigar, puffing out white smoke as he looked up.

The truth was...

Dick got worried after hearing about you and Bruce argument and how you wouldn't pick up the phone calls from Alfred even after a week.

He came to your apartment, knocking over and over again but you never came.

He force his way in... Then suddenly.

Chair on the ground, as id kick away. The creaking of the fan and... your body hanging from the fan.

Your body was still, lacking any sign of live... The rope was tight against your neck... your eyes were somewhat opened, but he could only see the white.

Yet your eyes, they scare him deeply.

He could never forget the look on your dead face, so alive yet so... empty.

Your mouth opened as if gasing for air, the slight drool mic with tears and the pungent smell of death.

At first he couldn't even move, nor cry or panick... He was lock in shock.

What was worst was that while Dick hold onto your cold body, he cried so hard. Begging for you to come back, cursing himself.

"Please, please, Don't leave me.. I haven't even told you- how... greatful I am of you, please don't, don't do this..."

He knew no matter how hard he called, you'll never open your eyes again... Afterall you have been dead for two days.

God, he wondered how lonely you would have been during those days, did you regret it? the purple line of bruises on your neck linger onto his head.

How much have you been suffering....?If only he wasn't so immature back then, maybe you'd be alive and happy..

"... It's better if they don't know the truth, but im sure we both know that they'll prefer the lie..."

Dick continue as he pulled himself out of that memory.

"Hell, don't act like it's much, you always visit atleast once a week, I've seen you talking to the them..."

Hearing that Jason almost groan out of frustration, only because Dick was likely to tease him.

It was true, Jason always visited your grave atleast once a week. Talking, telling you about how shitty life was, Bruce and how he missed you.

He could never forget you, afterall you were the first person to welcome him with love and care...

"A happy family you say? I do not think they'll be able to catch any person with their temper"

Jason joked, they both were actively grieving you by imaging a future where you live, happy and healthy.

"That's... true. But hey, some like it spicy afterall"

Dick responded, perfectly.

"Disgusting..."

"Oh-!? You started it, red!"

[zweetpea]

Batfam x Neglected!Spouce!Reader

CW: Cheating

— Bruce married you a bit late into Jason’s career as Robin.

— You had just barely finished their bachelor’s degree, when their parents proposed the idea of an arrangement to strengthen business ties with Wayne entrepreneurs.

— After all, how was bisexual bimbo Brucie supposed to say no to a cute little thing like you.

— You understand what type of a man Bruce Wayne was. He had a reputation to uphold, and you were fine with him adding some more notches to his bedpost during the duration of this marriage.

— Bruce felt bad but was grateful for you understanding this was a marriage of convenience.

— You took care of Jason, grew closer to him, baked him chocolate chip cookies… they were always his favorite.

— Then came the hardest day of your life… Having to bury him. Bruce wouldn’t tell you what happened… a tragic accident he called it.

— ironically, a death in the family lead to you finally meeting your other stepson Dick Grayson. He was polite, and sweet enough… be he didn’t stick around.

— You started to take up self defense classes after that. Jason always begged you to when he was alive… it felt like a good way to honor him.

— Years pass and eventually Tim moves in… and so does Stephanie.

— Both of the young teens seem to avoid you when they can. You supposed it was only fair… they just had a bombshell dropped on them that Bruce Wayne was going to be their new father. You figured giving them time to adjust was the right decision.

— You finally get to meet Barbara Gordon one day at an award Ceremony Gotham University was holding. She was brilliant; utterly witty and confident. But at the same time she seemed to stare right through you.

— You knew what she was thinking, what they were all thinking. “This one is a phase.” You couldn’t blame them. You thought so too.

— It was that time of year again…

— Every year you made cookies… Jason’s birthday, his adoption anniversary, his death… every single important anniversary you made a fresh plate of Chocolate chip cookies and set them out on the counter. By morning they were gone… courtesy of Alfred.

— He enjoyed your presence but he found it tedious that you would waste food like this!

— Eventually something big happens

— Bruce is just… gone one day. No note, no phone call, no voicemail. Nothing! Just… vanished from the face of the earth for months!

— And with him gone… so too did Tim and Stephanie leave.

— Something about roaming the halls of that empty mansion left a bad taste in your mouth. This wasn’t your home. This was the Waynes home. And no matter what your marriage certificate said… you weren’t a Wayne… everyone made that perfectly clear.

— You took up painting in the time Bruce was gone.

— Might as well immortalize the family you inherited this Mansion from. It was easy enough to find photos of everyone online.

— It was a tad harder to hanging above the stairway in the great Hall.

— and they’re it was again… Jason’s Birthday.

— Alfred has been out taking care of Tim and Stephanie as they live downtown in Bruce’s old penthouse…

— maybe this time you’d actually be able to properly honor your son.

— and the cookies are still there by morning you got out of a sigh of relief.

— and that side turns into laughter.

— and that laughter turns into sobbing.

— eventually, everything changes again. Bruce comes home and he brings the entire family back with him. Dick moves and Tim and Stephanie move back in. Even Barbara and a new girl named Cassandra Cain move in.

— The home feels like we were than ever!

— so why does it feel like you’re planting even more into the background?

— most of the time they forget you’re even there.

— christmases and birthdays are usually filled with laughter and joy and cheer. The Waynes go all out and celebrating each other and filling the home with laughter and love…

— yours are filled with gift cards and awkward, exchanging of pleasantries.

— you might, as will be an ornamental lamp.

— and then Damien shows up.

— you try your absolute best to be nice. I didn’t really bother you that Bruce had an affair. You encouraged him to the beginning of your “marriage”. Damien’s existence wasn’t a problem. His attitude on the other hand…

— most people know Damien Wayne is a brat.

— he’s constantly mouthing off to his siblings, he’s constantly fighting with his father, he’s constantly sassing anybody who will give him five seconds of attention.

— but you get it the worst. It feels like he goes out of his way to annoy you and to try to pick a fight with you. He sees you as the evil stepmother before you even have a chance to get to know him. Part of him blames you, for being in the way of his mother and father being together. They were in love, but because of you, they had to go their separate ways.

— to him you’re just a Normie.

— a no good nobody who doesn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as the Waynes. Sure you’ve lived in this house long before his parents even met, but that didn’t matter to him. His mother was a purebred, you’re just a mutt. She’s beautiful, elegant, educated, deadly, cunning. She’s Bruce’s perfect match. You’re nothing special to him.

— and he lets you know every single time that you see each other that you will never compare to his mother. You will never replace his mother! You will never be his mother…

— The arrogant little-…

— it’s fine. You just have to survive six more years of this and then he’ll go off to college and you’ll never have to see him again.

— it’s the anniversary of Jason’s death…

— The hardest day of your life… The day you were forced to bury your son you. The only son you’ve ever known, the only family ever known in this hell hole since your parents sold you off.

— and what do you find the next morning?

— Him…

— Damian Wayne eating Jason’s cookies.

— You screamed.

— you snatched the plate away from him, and started screaming at him that he was a demon, a monster! How could he destroy your memorial to your beloved son?!

— Bruce comes in and separates the two of you.

— he screams at you, not to yell at his son.

— You fire back that he’s forgotten Jason. That if he remembered Jason, he would remember how hard his death hit you… and how much these cookies meant to you, and how much this memorial meant to you.

— in the 15 years since Jason’s death, not important date of his has gone by where you haven’t honored him in this way.

— if Bruce hadn’t forgot Jason, then how could he have not told Damien what these cookies meant

— it was all you had left of your son, and now there’s a demon has ruined it. And Bruce is letting him.

— after that, you spent months locked in your room. Bruce tried to smooth things over. He sent you gifts, he sent you money, he even made a Damien apologize. Nothing is enough

— and then, one day you suddenly started coming out of your room again.

— you look brighter than you had been in over a decade and a half.

— and you’re still baking those damn cookies.

— only this time you’re baking them on a weekly basis. You leave the cookies out on the doorstep of the service entrance on Sunday night and by Monday morning the plate is empty.

— Bruce felt bad.

— Of course he felt bad! He feel like he pushed you into a psychosis! You miss Jason so much that you’re trying to relive the past like he’s still here.

— and then one night… Bruce sees him again. Jason has come back as the red hood persona. He wants to tell you so badly. He knows how much you miss him, but that would compromise his secret identity as the Batman.

— he lets this guilt fester for months.

— and then, on Sunday evening, he sees you baking cookies again.

— you turned to him and grandmother smile.

— it makes him feel so guilty.

— You tell him that you can’t talk now Jason’s gonna be here any minute after he’s done with his red hood business.

— that made him pause. His heart stopped for a moment. You couldn’t possibly know that. Jason wouldn’t be that stupid to tell you about everything. Right?

— he gripped by the shoulder and turns you around. He needed to know…

“How much do you know?”

[dehydratedoverlord]

Suffocation

Batfamily x Neglected! Moon Knight's Sidekick! Reader

(CHAPTER V)

Chapter VI

Summary: After a group of students kill you due to hate, you get resurrected by a godly and somewhat childish entity that wishes to use you as a host due to your impressive abilities. Moon Knight, following the orders of Khonshu decides to train you but develops an attachment towards you. Unbeknownst to your family who you begin to slowly ignore due to their neglect and your nighttime activities. THIS IS A CROSSOVER FIC

Author's note: Sorry for the late update. My family member had a medical emergency.

Warnings: Major character death, Major harm, Neglect, bullying, hateful themes, Reader coming to terms with being neglected, violence, jumping from high buildings, PTSD)

“Star Maiden!”

“No."

“Star Knight!”

“Oh god, you are so bad at this.”

“Moon Squire!”

“That's already taken! And my theme is stars! Not the moon!”

“No harm in having doubles.”

“I'll just stay nameless.”

“You can't stay nameless. You need a name! Come on, tell me more about yourself. What are your powers?”

“Who says I have powers?”

“You're literally flying.”

You really enjoy being a hero but It's times like these that have you wondering. Which is pretty insane now that you ponder it; you've literally been kicked to a pulp, punched to oblivion, shot at and stabbed at one point but this is what has you contemplating your choices?

You need to go out more. With people.

“What are your powers anyway? And how did you get them?”

“Don't ask me, Spidey. I don't even know my pow-”

“Telekinesis, telepathy, teleportation and in recent times — tangibility manipulation and abnormal strength.” Moon Knight monotone voice interjected from below.

“Oh wow thanks, Moonie. Glad to know someone keeps a file on me.”

“You need to know these things. Those powers aren't just powers. They're your senses at this point and it's important you keep track of them.”

“Alright, Dad.”

The line was supposed to be humorous. A common clap back to a man lecturing like a dad would. Like your dad should.

So why the hell was his answer-

“No problem.”

Moon Knight confused you. That was totally it. That was totally why you let out a little chuckle while continuing to fly while holding him. He confused you.

And it was hard not to laugh at the sight of you two.

The sight of you three is comically cartoonish.

Moon Knight can't fly, everyone knows that and he can't sling from building to building like Spider-Man.

So when you suggested holding him as a means of transport he had no choice but to allow you to grab him as if he were some overgrown infant and take him on this joy ride.

And to be honest, he didn't put up much of a fight.

“Can we please get back to the name?”

“No thank you, Spidey.”

“What's the press gonna call you? What's your merch gonna be?”

“I really don't care about that stuff. I'm here to save lives, not garner a fanbase.”

“You still need a name. What am I meant to call you? Moon Knight jr?”

“Are you always this talkative?”

“No.”

“Yes.” Moon Knight sighed out.

“Hey I have a name! What about Psyche?”

“That's the name of a Goddess.”

“Psy-Star?”

“Yeah no.”

—

Damian Wayne had been feeling that things were off in the manor lately.

For one, Alfred seemed more worried lately. Not worried about him though. It appeared that he was more concerned with other things.

His suspicions only grew stronger when he overheard something rather… distressing in Bruce's study.

“Master Bruce, I'm afraid you do not understand-”

“I understand perfectly well, Alfred. If Y/N isn't eating while she's home there's a high chance she's most likely eating elsewhere. Maybe she isn't a fan of your cooking.” Damian couldn't miss the sheer dismissiveness of his father's tone.

Was he always this cold towards you?

That level of nonchalance wasn't in his realm of understanding— at least not with Bruce. As much as Bruce loved portraying himself as some emotionless bat, Damian and everyone knew just how much he truly cared for them.

Yet why did it seem like that wasn't the case for you?

“I can assure you, Master Bruce. Miss Y/N has not been eating for weeks. And when she does she eats rather grand portions. It's alarming.”

“It's probably one of her diets. It's a phase, it'll go away.”

“Master Bruce-”

“I'm too busy for this Alfred. Talk to me later.”

That brings Damian to the second thing that's been bothering him lately.

You.

When was the last time he's spoken to you or should he say— you've spoken to him? He can't really recall initiating a conversation with you.

Like ever.

He didn't feel the need to.

You two had nothing in common.

He was a protector of Gotham.

You were some wannabe that Bruce kept around out of pity. If he could even call it that.

So why did he find himself here?

Standing in front of your bedroom door?

Trying to act as if his stomach wasn't going through all sorts of sinks and lurches.

It was just you.

Why would he ever care about what you thought about him?

Why the hell was he so nervous?

Why was he concerned?

He knows about your diets. You're a very accomplished MMA fighter who has to look after herself but the stuff you do to remain at the top never really sat right with him.

There were times where he assumed you were lying for the sake of trying to come across as “one of them”.

He never thought they were real.

At least not until now.

He exhaled a sigh and raised his hand.

Knock

Knock

Knock

You were currently dying.

You have the right to say that, right?

You did die ONCE.

You have every right to joke about it because the Gods know that you can't go to a therapist about it.

Your head was killing you and you felt really soft.

You tried thinking of anything else to keep this growing pain in your skull at bay but nothing was working.

They never got this bad.

Knock

Knock

Knock

“I know you're in there! Open the door now!”

Was that…

No way.

Was that Damian?

Yeah now you've really lost it.

There's no way you're actually-

Knock

Knock

Knock

You could feel the vibrations of the mahogany door.

You groaned in pain and tried to gather the strength to get up.

Your vision began to cloud up.

Taking a deep breath your thoughts shifted to the door.

Boom. You teleported to the front of the door. A bit dizzy but hey, no pain no gain.

Before he could knock again Damian was greeted with you staring down at him.

“Yes?”

“Why did it take you so long to answer the door? It could've been an emergency.”

“Is it?”

“...”

“Hm.”

Damian realised he didn't really know what to say to you.

You were different.

You weren't smiling and your eyes were hyper focused but there was nothing to focus on.

Were you on drugs?

“What's wrong with you?” He yelled accusatorially.

“Nothing…”

You leaned on the door slightly to support yourself. You really couldn't do whatever this is right now.

“Look if you're trying to get me in trouble or something-”

“What? Why would I do that?”

“I really wouldn't put it past you.”

“What's up with you?”

“Leave me alone.” You didn't have the patience for whatever this was.

That stunned him.

“Wait!” He called out just as you were about to shut the door.

“What?” Your movement halted.

Damian let out a sigh and looked down.

“Do you want to go to that insipid café tomorrow? They have somewhat pleasant cakes and tea. I believe you'd enjoy that." He offered, his eyes darting across the area.

You stared at him. You can't have sweets. That goes against your diet.

And you don't trust whatever Damian's on right now. He must have been hit with something, he'll ditch you the second someone else in the family comes around.

And plus

“I have band practice.” You closed the door.

Well. That was a first.

You would've jumped with glee at the chance to spend time with him.

And since when did you have a band? Could you even play an instrument?

He knocked again.

“Can I watch you guys?” He spoke to the door.

You didn't respond.

—

You really hate school.

The work is easy and you now have friends but you still have bullies.

You know, the guys that killed you.

You swear you were just minding your business by the bleachers.

“Hey Mutie!”

And then that happened.

Your face contorted into a harsh grimace.

Memories flashed before your eyes.

“Aww come on, mutie!”

“What do you want?” You sneered.

“You heal fast. Regeneration?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Make her leave.” That familiar gentle firm voice echoed in your mind.

Astraea?

You could barely register what was happening– it all happened so fast.

The girl opened her mouth to scream but whatever voice she had vanished. A mere croak left her before she dropped down to the ground with a muted thump.

She wasn't dead.

You could feel her cold heart still beating in her chest and feel the rush of blood in her veins.

But her mind had been altered.

Well, you should say it's currently being altered.

Whole memories are being rewritten, emotions are being rewired, it's as if she's becoming reprogrammed.

You snapped out of your idle state once you realised what was happening.

“Astraea! Stop it, you're changing her!”

“No, thank you.”

“There is nothing heroic about this.”

“She's going to hurt more people in the long run. We're saving those individuals.” You didn't miss the way her playful tone reverberated.

She enjoyed that.

“This will never happen again. And we need to get out of here.”

“Will you chill out? Nobody is here, which only supports my prior statement. She wanted to hurt you again and make sure nobody was there to witness it.” Astraea hissed out in pure vitriol.

Who the hell taught her the phrase “chill out” ?

—

You were so antsy.

“I quite like the name ‘Star Knight’”

“I don't. Now what?”

“You can't stay nameless forever, my dear.”

“I'll let the press decide.”

“Your choice.”

You were restless, tonight. Honestly, you were quite grateful to have Astraea for nights like these. You're aware you haven't demonstrated it but you missed her.

She filled in a spot nobody else had. Filled it with warmth and gentleness.

Is this what it felt like having a-

No.

That's different.

Don't think that way.

Oh Gods, she's in your head too. She definitely heard that thought. Hope she doesn't say anything.

“I've never had a child before…”

“Forget it.”

“Alright.”

You weren't on patrol today because you let it slip that you had an exam tomorrow and Moon Knight insisted that you stay home.

You needed some action.

You needed to get out of here.

Springing up from bed you walked to your door and sprinted into the window.

Your body felt hollow and you were in the air.

But you knew that meant you were invisible and intangible.

Nobody could see you. Nobody could hear you. Nobody could touch you.

A ghost.

Something you've been your entire life, only in this period in your life you've gotten powers to really show for it.

—

It was pitch black when you went for your night flight. You chose Hell's Kitchen because fuck Daredevil, you do what you want.

You couldn't really see people but you could hear and feel something and someone tailing you?

It wasn't like you were in Gotham so it couldn't be your family.

And it didn't smell like Daredevil either. He always smells like blood.

This scent was metallic and clean.

You stopped.

You couldn't read this person's mind.

“Finally caught up to you.” A deep voice boomed from behind you.

“Who's there!” Your hands were raised and charging up a mean blast.

The light revealed a man. His hair was the whitest thing you've seen, but he didn't look old, not a single wrinkle in sight.

As you scanned him you noticed he had a metal hand peeking from his coat.

So that's the thing you were feeling. It's sentient. Not the hand. But the material the hand is made of, it's moving in him.

Like cancer.

Something told you that this man wasn't a threat.

“I'm not.”

A voice spoke in your mind.

“I'm Cable. Call me Nathan.”

[soulsforsales]

How the Batboys would react if you broke no contact (ft. brucie wayne, dickiebird, and jaybaby)

notes: they just miss you, okay? give ‘em a break!!! i also wanted to write Tim but I’m on my periods and got so lazy sorry guys^^

Bruce Wayne

Bruce is sitting in another Wayne Enterprises meeting, half listening to whatever the clients are saying, half repeating your words in his head.

you have refused to contact him after the last fight you two had. it has been five days—and yes, he’s been counting. every day, every minute, every second he has to face this torturous no contact phase. why won’t you just yell at him instead?

Bruce has tried distracting himself with bat business and new cases. he even tried meeting up with clients and attended three stupid meetings exactly like this one. yet, you’re always in the back of his mind.

you said he wasn’t allowed to call you unless you called first. that you needed space. that he never admitted his faults and you were getting tired.

that threw him off a lot more than he cared to admit. and although he respects your privacy, space and rules, his patience is running thin.

Bruce half-heartedly nods at whatever the man is saying when his phone vibrates. it’s embarrassing how fast he picks it up and what’s even more embarrassing is the way his chest tightens when he spots your name on the screen, a photo of you hugging a golden retriever and practically beaming stares back at him.

he’s getting up before he even realises it, leaving the meeting and ignoring every protest.

“hello? baby?” Bruce speaks as soon as he’s halfway to the door.

“hi,” your voice is small and tired, like you missed him as much as he missed you. “hope you aren’t busy—“

“not at all, angel,” Bruce cuts you off, shaking his head at no one. “can we talk? please?”

there’s a moment of silence from your side, making him swallow uneasily, “yeah. i’d like that.”

and just like that, Bruce feels better than he’s felt in the last five days. he smiles, already walking out of the building. “good. pick you up in ten.”

Dick Grayson

Dick is out with Wally at some shitty diner in Bludhaven, trying not to sulk as he dips his fries in ketchup and takes a bite. it was Wally’s idea. he thought it would be good for Dick to get out after he’d been holed up in your shared apartment ever since you two had a fight and you left. Wally had also been tired of listening to Dick rant about the same thing over and over but he doesn’t need to say that. he can just be a good, supportive friend right now. besides the food seems to shut up his best friend for at least ten minutes.

“i just don’t get it!” or so he thought.

Wally sighs, “i dunno man. she’ll call you back. you—“

“yeah. she always does.” Dick cuts him off, taking a sip of his drink, shrugging like he’s unbothered by the whole situation and hasn’t been checking his phone every five seconds.

“and when she does. don’t just pick up at once,” Wally suggests, leaning in, face serious. “let it marinate, y’know? let her see she can’t just get away with it.”

Dick nods, “oh yeah. no way. i am not picking it up, man.”

a minute later, Dick’s phone rings and it’s next to his ear before Wally can even blink. and he’s one of the fastest men alive.

“hello? babe?”

“damn.” Wally can’t help but shake his head, taking a huge bite of his burger.

Dick doesn’t seem to care, ignoring him as he shifts slightly so he doesn’t have to deal with the disappointed look on his best friend’s face. “yeah? yes! baby, I’m sorry. it was all my fault— wait—you’re coming back?! you are!?”

Wally just blinks and Dick smiles like a man who just won the lottery. “no, no, no. i’ll pick you up. i’ll be there. don’t you worry, sweet cheeks.”

Dick puts the phone down, getting up already. “We’ll have to cut this short—“

Wally scoffs, waving his hands dramatically, “dude!? seriously?”

Dick flashes him a grin, “you’ll understand when you’re in love too, my man.”

and with that, he’s sprinting down the road like everything is right in the world because you’re talking to him again. and yeah, that’s exactly how he it is for him.

Jason Todd

the apartment is empty. you left after yet another fight. it was jason’s fault, it always is. and even if it wasn’t—he should’ve stopped you. but no—his stupid pride got in the way.

you told him there would be no contact. he thought you were just angry. but now that it’s been a week of radio silence from you, he’s beginning to realise you meant that.

you told him you were getting tired of his antics and excuses. you asked him to spend more time around. to be there. to make you feel like you were more than just a place holder. and he’d snapped like you asked the world of him.

he couldn’t even blame you for leaving and asking for space. he deserved it. but that didn’t stop him from missing you. and that definitely didn’t stop him from calling your phone fifteen times before he realised you actually are ignoring him.

and yeah, he kinda deserves that too.

but why do you need space? why not fight it out instead??why leave him all alone and miserable???

Jason had rather have you angry and mean than not have you at all.

he’s laying on the couch now, phone face up on the coffee table in a quiet hope that you’d call him up. there’s something sad playing from the tiny bluetooth device you got him.

Jason might act all tough and strong but at the end of the day, he‘s just lying in his living room, listening to sad breakup music like some angsty teenager because his girlfriend established no contact.

he’s just about to pick up the phone and start looking through your pictures to hone the ache in his chest when it rings.

and he jumps. practically jumps into a sitting position and picks it up, palm going to his chest because of how loud his heart is beating.

god, he really, really hopes you aren’t going to break up with him.

“Jason?” your voice is like honey and velvet to his ears, going straight to his heart.

“hello? yeah?” Jason would like to cry and beg for you to come back and let him make it up to you but he holds back. for now.

there’s some shuffling at your end before you sigh. “i miss you.”

Jason breathes like the air didn’t quite make it to his lungs until now. “yeah? god, babe, i miss you too. so much. please come back. we can talk it out. i’ll fix it.”

“yeah, I’m coming back.” you admit, and Jason smiles, relief flooding him.

“yes. yes, please—no, wait, I’m picking you up. I’ll be there. okay? don’t—don’t worry. I’ll be there in five.”

he’s already putting on shoes by the time you hang up. and quietly promising himself to never let you leave ever again. he probably won’t survive losing you.

[teklarn]

Heyy could u write a jason todd x pregnant reader where she gets kidnapped for months and gives birth while held captive and once shes rescued shes rlly traumatised and refuses to be away from the baby please !!

hope you enjoy my darling! to all reading: please be wary of the warnings! i know this is a sensitive topic to be written about, so please just take care of yourselves and remember that it is fiction!

to hold you once more - j. todd

dcu masterlist | main masterlist

jason todd x fem!reader

summary: you give birth in captivity, and after being rescued, can't bring yourself to part with your child - a challenge your husband is finding increasingly difficult.

warnings: pregnancy (reader), kidnapping, reader has ptsd, depression, grief, mentions of malnourishment (both for the reader and the baby), reader dissociates * let me know if i missed anything!

UNEDITED!

the moment you're in his arms again, jason feels like he can breathe. the sound of water floods his ears, drowning out the wailing of your malnourished child.

you're trembling, and he's not quite sure you want to be held by anyone at all. if anything, he clings to you for himself. jason had believed these long nights were over. surveiling the city, cracking necks, guns and all sorts of violence in the name of justice.

he was such a fool.

jason would never allow himself to believe you weren't a target ever again. that he could have a tiny life - the life of a husband, a parent.

he thought settling down with you was something he could afford to choose. he'd never been so wrong.

for months, jason ripped the family apart with orders, driving them through long nights in search of you. he'd once again strained his relationship with his family.

but it all amounted to this. this moment, you in his arms, tears brimming his eyes as he takes in the infant cradled between your arms.

so small. delicate. a flower sprouted between the cracks in concrete.

his heart is shattering and re-building itself all at once.

"i'm sorry," jason whispers into your hair. he rips his mask off and kisses your head. over and over again. "i'm sorry," he repeats. "i'm so sorry."

it's all he can muster in the moment - in the dim light of this dingy basement. into the soft head of his child who has never seen the sun. the child who has been your only company for how many months now?

his family stands behind him, no doubt itching to hold you and your newborn just as much. but, respectfully, they keep their distance. they allow jason to have this moment.

to hold you, even though your quivering body cannot hold him back.

"she won't speak to me," jason grumbles one morning. his voice cuts through idle talk, through the static of the living room television. everyone turns in unison, concern etched into their faces.

purple bags bruise the underside of his eyes. his lips are pressed thin.

"i'm sure she just needs - " dick's voice falls quiet at jason's tone.

"she won't. talk. to me." jason's eyes burn into dick.

"dick was just going to say she needs time," barbara suggests. her tone is much softer, carrying that empathy she believed both you and jason need. "and i'm sure she does."

"you don't get it." jason's eyes stare blankly. into a void - a black hole in which no one else seems able to see. "she won't even look at me."

he pictures you, finally in a change of clothes, showered and cleaned. and how you wailed when he tried to rinse your hair, how you wailed as he tried to pull your child away. his soft reassurances had fallen on deaf ears.

he'd reminded you who he was - your husband. the father of your child. no way in hell was he going to hurt you or his baby, whom you seem reluctant to give the name of.

of course, the two of you had names in mind, but he wondered which one you chose when you gave birth.

alone.

jason doesn't want to say it aloud. he doesn't have to - everyone sees it on his face. but the last thing he wants is people's pity. the last thing he wants is everyone cooing over how it wasn't his fault he wasn't there.

of course it was.

if he'd been faster.

smarter.

if he'd done anything to get to you sooner, this wouldn't have happened. you could've recovered before the baby arrived and he could've been there. every step of the way.

"she doesn't look at me anymore," he repeats, eyes glossing over. it's a shred of rare weakness he allows everyone to bear witness to. jason's heart wrenches.

he's beginning to wonder if you even remember who he is.

"time," tim says. and jason hates to hear it. he hates it so much he could lash out like he used to - throw something, curse someone out. but jason swore to fix his temper when you came into the picture. now that he has a child, he swore to never give in to that anger ever again.

still, tim slowly backs away as jason gets up. "time," tim repeats. "i know you hate to hear it, but..."

the others silence his bluntness with nasty looks.

although jason's nails press into his palms, he does appreciate tim's inability to sugarcoat things. sometimes.

jason drags his feet upstairs and stands before your door.

isolated in the hall, lights off, his fingers twitch. he waits for a moment he hopes will never come.

he doesn't want to 'break the ice' as if you're some new couple. it feels like reintroducing himself all over again each time he steps into your room.

jason feels impossibly selfish for thinking this way. for wallowing in self-pity, for sobbing at night over what used to be, the parts of yourself you seem to hide from him now. you've evidently been through much worse.

so he doesn't voice to anyone how much it hurts.

or tries not to.

he can hear your brittle voice singing lullabies to the baby. you sound good, but raspy. he hopes you drank the water he gave you.

gently, jason taps his knuckle against the door. "darling?" the old petname tastes like rust in his mouth. it dissolves on his tongue.

you go quiet.

the silence tears a hole inside of him. but, daring as he's always been, jason opens the door.

light cascades over your figure as you hunch over the baby protectively.

"hi," he says awkwardly, unsure how to not scare you. "can i come in?"

he waits a moment, then takes your silence as an invitation. jason steps in and watches you wiggle a little further back on the bed.

"how is she?" he juts his chin towards your daughter. he put the pieces together on his own - the softness of the baby's face, the long lashes and bright eyes. she looked just like you.

and he cherishes his daughter. that's his forever girl. but you were his girl first, and he needs to care for you first and foremost.

"how are you?" he rephrased.

you don't say anything. your eyes studying something invisible on the floor. you seem to drift, unable to ground yourself in reality.

"hey," he says gently, trying to push your boundaries as softly as possible. "it's okay. i'm here. how are you? are you feeling okay?" jason glances to the nightstand and notes the half-eaten toast he made for you, and the glass now half-full. a tiny smile tugs at his lips.

"do you want food? it's almost dinner time."

nothing.

even the baby coos, but you don't say a thing.

jason takes the chance to grow closer. just a little bit.

he spreads his arms as slowly as he can. "can i...can i hold her?" his eyes betray him and a tear rolls down his cheek. "may i? please?" it's a gentleness he's never even known himself to possess.

you struggle to kick yourself away through the sea of blankets, clutching your daughter closer.

"no, no," jason protests gently. "i'm sorry. i didn't...i didn't mean to scare you." he gets on one knee, hovering over the mattress as you curl into yourself on the other side of the bed.

jason feels too big, like some atrocity, some monster lurking. he feels too broad to match you, like a hulking thing. he doesn't feel human. he feels like a failure.

when he doesn't move, you quickly break into tears and the baby soon follows.

"no, no," he whispers. "please, i'm sorry. does she need...? do you need...?" his brow draws together. he doesn't know how to help you. how to make your pain stop. all he knows is perseverance. all he knows is the will to try.

even that seems to fail him.

"i'm sorry," he mutters. "i'm sorry." jason gets up, legs trembling. you only curl inwards more as you watch him go.

a month later, you're beginning to ease yourself into a normal life again.

you slowly start to branch out. each day, you go a step further from your bedroom.

the family brings you everything you need.

they ensure your food is brought up promptly and on schedule. seven in the morning for breakfast, twelve o'clock sharp for lunch, and five-thirty for dinner. each day, you begin to eat more and more.

they bring diapers and formula, and your hollow cheeks are beginning to glow with more life. it's slow, a tiny flame birthed into a bitter reality.

but as more time passes, you seem...happier. jason doesn't see you smile - at least not very often.

but he's happy to see you feeling confident enough to wander around the manor.

everyone is painfully gentle, and jason wouldn't have it any other way. they step out of your way, they get everything you need. they cater to you like you're a princess, and you deserve it. you need it.

and it seems to help you heal.

this environment of safety contrasting the harsh, brutal one you'd just come from.

you still don't answer when someone asks you a question, and if you say anything at all, it's a whisper. jason often needs to lean down to hear it, but then he gets too close, which often scares you off. he hates himself for pretending to understand you when he can't catch your words. but he doesn't want you to go.

you still refuse to be separated from the baby. she's always in your arms. and she seems happy.

bruce suggested therapy, but everyone else was too stumped to figure out when you'd be ready to leave or talk.

you spend most of your time in the garden when it's warm enough, and you begin spending time with damian's pets.

your daughter adores them all, and jason doesn't miss how damian smiles when he catches sight of her tossing her hands up with glee.

you begin to talk more. a sentence here. a sentence there.

but you still struggle with eye contact. jason wishes, just for a fleeting second, you'd meet his eyes.

for a time, jason is content with this reality, though he desperately hopes it's temporary.

his contentment is shattered when he sees you sitting on the couch with steph and barbara. and his daughter is being bounced up and down on barbara's lap.

you watch cautiously, hands at the ready in case you need to snatch your baby back. but barbara is gentle in the same, motherly way you are.

jason doesn't blame you for trusting them before anyone else. if there's anyone who could understand you, it would be them.

but it doesn't stop him from feeling a twang of jealousy, like molten iron sitting in his stomach.

next is cass - of course. you're holding the baby as cassandra doodles in the air with a finger. the baby grasps her finger and giggles.

jason wishes that was him. he yearns for you, for his daughter. and everyday, he tries. he visits you in your room, he tells you what happened while you were away. how he never stopped looking for you.

each day, he asks you how you are. you've begun replying with a whispered, "fine," or even a "good."

but it's all he can pull from you. you're healing. and jason doesn't care that you're healing slowly - he'll always wait for you, no matter what.

but he can't help but feel jealous when you seem to trust everyone but him. of course, that's not true. you've yet to let damian, bruce, tim, or dick hold the baby, too.

jason misses you desperately. the point he's losing sleep. you're all he can think of. you and your child - his child. the one you guys were supposed to raise together.

jason is bound to consider the worst - what if she doesn't let me see our baby's first steps? what if she doesn't let me in the baby's life at all?

all he can imagine is how he's chased a father figure for his entire life. he promised himself he'd be there for his child, no matter what. and now...this? of course jason would respect your boundaries. but...he wanted to be there. and he'd continue trying, no matter how long it took for you to accept him back.

one morning, the sun glaringly bright, you're making your way down the stairs. he's in the kitchen, cooking you some eggs, toast, and bacon.

you've gotten comfortable enough to store the baby's formula in the fridge - so it's the first place you come in the morning.

that's why jason has gotten into the habit of getting up early to make your breakfast. obviously, he wanted to take care of you. but more than that, he wanted to see you. to have a chance to see his baby and watch his daughter's first smile of the day.

he sighs as you enter the kitchen. he takes in your heavenly morning glow. the newfound fullness of your cheeks, the wrinkles in your nightgown.

"good morning," jason says solemnly. he tires to keep his spirits lifted - at least in front of you. "how are you? how did you sleep?"

"good," you answer, a little louder than usual. you sound genuinely happy this morning.

he's not sure what question you're answering, if you slept good or if you simply are good. jason only cares that you answered him at all. that you're talking to him. of course, it matters that you're having a good day, but he's just happy you -

"jason?"

he freezes. jason doesn't know how long he stays frozen or how much time passes until he hears you make your way beside him.

his breath is shuddering. he can't breathe at all.

"i..." jason slowly turns. "yes?"

"i never forgot." water brims your eyes.

he remembers the long nights - the ones where he begged you to speak to him. to say something, the nights that only served to scare you a bit before he apologized and left.

the baby is swaddled in your arms.

"i'm...i'm sorry," you mutter. "for not being able to - "

jason wants to wrap you in his arms right there. he doesn't. he forces himself to stay locked in place. to not take a single step forward unless you invite him in for a hug.

"don't...don't ever be sorry for that. that wasn't your fault." he's frantic, and not quite sure what or how to think in this moment. "don't ever apologize for what you did. you didn't do anything." and then he's rambling. he's apologizing himself now. for not being there. for not being smart enough to crack the case.

"i'm sorry," he repeats. "i love you. i never stopped loving you." he doesn't know why he's saying this. "i love you so much and i..." the eggs begin to sizzle and the smell of smoke wisps into the air.

jason coughs and turns off the heat.

"i...sorry. i burnt your..." he can't think or see through his muddled brain or the tears building. jason desperately blinks them back.

he shudders, and your eyes flicker up to meet his. the sight is shattering. it's like sunlight in its purest form. undiluted. bright, forgiving, full of renewed hope.

there was a long way to go. more healing to be done. but you were taking a step. a big one. for him. for yourself. for the baby.

your lips part. "would you...like to hold her?"

everything falls in place at those words.

he internally declares that this is perfection. this moment. nothing exists except for this flawless, perfect moment. whether you keep talking to him in the future, whether you shut down again, he will never stop trying to break through to you. to help you heal. just because of this moment.

"yes," he says desperately. "yes, please."

your hands are shaking. he reaches out to steady them as you hand off the baby.

his daughter feels so much lighter in his arms. so soft.

she squeals, and this close up, he notices that in her head of dark hair that she inherited from him, there's also a tiny white streak.

he can barely breathe.

"what did you name her?" he asks, staring in amazement.

you lean in to whisper her name to him. your voice sounds like the kiss of a dove.

right then and there, jason decides he will never fall apart ever again. for you, and for the family.

[callmeizukunotdeku]

"You're lying," Damian said. 

And honestly, Tim had to laugh, "I don't know why you think I am. I asked to keep a cat, Alfred said no, and that was that."

"But that..." Damian furrowed his brow. Tim's voice was taking on a different tenor than usual. Something a bit more strained. "He let me have a cat."

"Yeah," Tim said, cringing when his voice cracked on the word, before trying to play it off with a casual shrug, "you're his son."

And Damian was fooled for a moment. He had his mouth half open to reply that he was the blood son. He was different. Superior. 

But he paused upon the fact that Tim hadn't just made that point for him, he'd given him an example. 

The cat. 

Tim had wanted one and been refused. Damian had wanted one and had been obliged. 

He had wanted a dragon and been obliged. 

But Tim couldn't have a cat, and Damian, whenever he asserted his superiority, had thought he was lying. 

He was lying in a way. They were the same. Tim was a well-respected associate of his father, but... 

You're his son. 

But that didn't mean as much as Damian assumed it did. 

Damian assessed his options before doing something he usually avoided. He swallowed his pride, looked at Tim, and said, "I...don't fully understand what your place is here."

Tim gave him a smile filled with enough sympathy to make something ugly roll in Damian's gut. "Me neither, kid. Me neither."